


All Fall Down

by disdainfullady, HerOwlness, TrueMyth, Veronica Mars Authors Collaborative (TrueMyth)



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mystery, Mystery of the Week, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Post-Season/Series 02, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, The Mystery of Marisol Reyes, Virtual Season/Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 158,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfullady/pseuds/disdainfullady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerOwlness/pseuds/HerOwlness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueMyth/pseuds/TrueMyth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueMyth/pseuds/Veronica%20Mars%20Authors%20Collaborative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Neptune, the brighter the summer sun, the deeper the shadows</p><p>This is a virtual season 3, collaboratively written by 20 different authors.  It is canon divergent post-season two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Set shortly after Season Two, this fic is a virtual season three plotted by 20 different fic writers on LiveJournal during the summer of 2006. Each chapter was written by one or more of these authors: ___tiana__, herowlness, hillaryr, jaggedreality, kantayra, strippedpink, ladyanne04, ladydisdain225, lex_83, lostt1, mastermia, mutinousmuse, onastick, queen_haq, txtequilanights, rindee, sadiekate, sarah_p, shizam23, and truemyth_. The larger mystery was collaboratively plotted out by the entire team, but unravels bit by bit, with each author exploring various MotW's and adding her own individual stamp to the storyline.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the world mourns the passing of Aaron Echolls, Veronica struggles with the fall out of the events of the past year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [kantayra](http://kantayra.livejournal.com/).  
> Her notes: _Many thanks to ladyanne04, lex_83, mutinousmuse, sarah_p, and truemyth who worked on this outline. Special thanks also to ladyanne04, lex_83, lostt1, mutinousmuse, sarah_p, and shizam23 for their beta work on this. All the good parts? Are totally theirs. :P_

Veronica stood alone in a seemingly endless crowd of gawkers and watched Trina Echolls sob her heart out into an honest-to-goodness black lace handkerchief. Cameras flashed everywhere, recording for posterity the endless grief of a daughter stricken by the untimely death of her beloved father, only days after truth, justice, and the American way had found him not guilty of a crime he had most certainly committed. Of course, only a few weeks before, Trina had been off in Paris, living up the nightlife and cozying up to several independent film directors. It was astonishing, really, what a 50/50 inheritance split with her younger brother could do to curry the favor of Aaron’s ‘beloved’ daughter.

A wail rose in counterpoint to Trina’s from the crowd just outside the cemetery gates, and the gigantic neon banner proclaiming “THE WOMEN OF THE WORLD MOURN AARON ECHOLLS” wavered in the gentle summer breeze.

Veronica so very badly needed to get out of there, and _now_.

The reason for her being there, of course, stood beside her and just a little bit in front of her. Logan hadn’t wanted to go to his father’s funeral at all, at first. In fact, the new f-word hadn’t escaped Logan’s lips in almost a week; Aaron was simply Aaron to his only true flesh and blood, nothing more. And Logan had made it most clear through his skillful avoidance of anything concerning Aaron – as well as the masterful use of his hands and tongue to distract her from any such conversation – that the matter wasn’t up for discussion.

Veronica could sympathize with that part, at least. Her own father wasn’t up for discussion, either. Even if Keith was the reason they were _all_ there. For some reason beyond her comprehension, Logan had been willing to listen to her father when he insisted that, if Logan missed Aaron’s funeral, he would regret it. Veronica sincerely doubted that Logan would have regretted the things that Keith thought he would, but something in that little speech must have rung true for her boyfriend. And, in turn, she couldn’t deny Logan’s soft request that she stand with him, or her dad’s much louder request that, if she was going anywhere where the name Aaron Echolls was so much as _mentioned_ , he was going with her ‘just in case.’ Only a week ago, she’d clung to him and never wanted him out of her sight again; now, she just wished that he’d give her space.

They’d done nothing _but_ talk about the aborted trip to New York ever since, it seemed. Actually, Keith had been the one doing all the talking while still managing to avoid Veronica’s only real question: What was so important, exactly?

Promises to make it up to her paled in comparison to the sinking feeling in her chest back in the airport as she’d watched the seconds tick by, alone and abandoned.

She hadn’t fully shaken off that lonely feeling since, despite her dad’s best efforts to reach out to her.

Logan was the closest thing she had to an ally – for a few terrifying hours, she’d thought that he was the only thing she had left _period_ – but then his own world had collapsed once again, so that here he was, an orphan, standing over his father’s closed casket, surrounded by hundreds of yellow tulips (just like the ones in _Die Not Tomorrow_ , naturally) and two Oscars at the center of the formation. The third grossly undeserved award supposedly rested within, clutched in Aaron’s cold, dead hands, the faked evidence of Lilly’s blood and Duncan’s hair still engraved into its surface. Veronica idly wondered how long it would take Neptune’s undoubtedly unscrupulous undertakers to put the thing up for sale on eBay; it would probably go for a small fortune.

Logan himself stared at the casket with an expression that might have been mistaken for disinterest by anyone who hadn’t known him as long as she had. _What_ , exactly, Logan was feeling was an entirely different matter, however.

Later that night, he was throwing a party back at the Grand. The reasons for the ‘celebration’, such as it was, were threefold:

The first was that Logan had finally gotten the paperwork through on his new place, so in a few weeks he could finally kiss the Grand, and its oh-so-unpleasant memories goodbye. Veronica still hadn’t quite wrapped her mind around the timing of _that_ particular announcement; no one but Logan Echolls would take the opportunity of his father’s death to start making new real estate purchases.

The second was that, with more alcohol than was advisable for human consumption, Dick and Logan had finally gotten through Beaver’s funeral two days earlier. Veronica hadn’t exactly been up for having a drunken, begrieved Dick trying to schmooze pity sex from her over the grave of the guy who had… Over the grave of _Beaver_ , whose dying request that his real name be remembered would forever go unanswered; he didn’t deserve the respect. She hadn’t actually steeled herself up enough yet to ask Logan how that had gone, and he’d seemed to understand that she just really didn’t want to deal with it at the moment. She had anticipated – and maybe even secretly dreaded – a call from Mac about the whole thing, but her phone didn’t ring. Maybe it was all for the better; Veronica wouldn’t know what to say, anyway.

And, third, Logan finally got to see his father dead and buried, out of his life forever.

The sermon, delivered by Aaron’s publicist, no less, came to an end, and Logan quickly turned away from the ceremony and Trina’s camera-perfect tears.

“There goes the bane of my existence,” he muttered under his breath to her, hand slipping around her waist as he walked them away from the grave plot as quickly as he could.

“You mean I’m not bane-worthy?” she retorted lightly, pressing their bodies together a bit closer in the only form of comfort she knew how to give. “I’ll just have to work harder.”

He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Just the thousand-and-first reason that she could be all alone at the biggest circus in Neptune…

Even the feel of Logan’s suit jacket against her cheek, the warmth of his body beside her, couldn’t breach the distance she’d felt of late. It was an endless cycle, really. A few stolen moments where she felt so impossibly _close_ to him that it ached deep inside her bones, and then something would happen to bring their natural standoffishness back to the forefront until they were miles apart, even when touching.

Everything was like that now, really.

When Lilly had died, Veronica had thought it was the end. She’d lost everything, it seemed. But she knew better now. Death wasn’t the only form of loss. Loss could also be slow and relentless, creeping up on her so carefully that she couldn’t even pinpoint when it had happened, until suddenly everything was gone.

Loss was making a new best friend, only to watch him slip away from her. Running off to Chicago or New York or even Hearst basketball camp this summer. It didn’t matter, because Wallace still wasn’t _there_.

Loss was finally wrapping herself in Logan’s arms after far too long, only to have it come on the cusp of a series of tragedies so momentous that they were still reeling from it all. Fathers living and fathers dying and fathers abandoning, and all of it leading to that unbearable _distance_ that stood between them now.

Loss was facing her father after the funeral of the man who had tried to kill her, and not being reassured by the quick kiss he placed upon her forehead. She could never hate Keith, could never stop loving him, couldn’t even bring herself to stay actively angry with him, even for a week. But none of that would change the fact that, no matter what happened now, the one person who had never let her down in her life had finally done so. She’d expected it from the others – from Wallace and Logan and Mac and Weevil and her mother – because people let you down. But not her dad. And she didn’t know how to reconcile the fact that he had finally failed her, that her entire world had been turned on its head.

Loss was the slow, relentless realization that things would _never_ be perfect and that somehow she’d always be alone, even when surrounded by the people who loved her most.

“You okay, kiddo?”

She let Keith pull her into a quick hug, closer to him and away from Logan. For his own part, Logan didn’t seem to mind. He was always rather strict about not touching her in Keith’s presence. It was almost odd to see Logan respectful of something for once, almost reverent. But, then, Keith was the closest thing to a good father that Logan had ever seen. She wondered, sometimes, what he’d think if he knew that Keith had left her stranded in that airport, her heart breaking. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it at the time – still didn’t – and her hours spent in the airport, watching the clock ticking away without a clue what was happening, had somehow morphed into an ‘exciting new case’ that they were working on together. Only Veronica had no more clue what that ‘case’ was about than Logan did. It was just easier all around that Logan didn’t know. She didn’t know what she would do if she had to look into Logan’s eyes too and see _understanding_ of what it was like to be disappointed in your own father.

Speaking of which…

“I’m _so_ sorry about your father, Logan.” One of the women dressed in black had the gall to approach the three of them as they stood pointedly away from Trina’s big scene.

Given the momentary frown on Logan’s face, he didn’t recognize these ‘close friends and family only’ permitted at the actual ceremony, any more than Veronica herself did.

Logan let out a wistful, exaggerated sigh. “Me, too,” he agreed overly-sincerely, taking the woman’s hand. “But, then… We don’t get to choose our parents, do we?” He gave her hand a little pat. “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault he was a philandering murderer.”

Veronica was leading Logan away before he could even finish with the mourner; the last thing he needed was to be caught by Entertainment Weekly making a scene at his own father’s funeral. The press annoyed him enough as it was.

“Let it go,” she whispered, trying to soothe away the tension that she could feel coursing through his body.

Keith glanced back at the stunned woman, and Veronica turned to notice two men with cameras headed their way. ‘Close friends and family,’ indeed.

“Let’s get out of here,” Keith advised.

A strategic retreat was definitely in order.

Through some miracle, they escaped the cemetery without being accosted again, and Logan’s fingers tapped on the window erratically as they drove away. He didn’t say anything, and Keith’s eyes met Veronica’s in the rearview mirror for a moment, before she looked away.

It was a moment between the three of them that should have been so close, so much like _family_ , if not for the fact that they were all locked away in their own separate spheres.

And, god, if Veronica kept dwelling on it all like this, she was going to go completely, utterly insane. The last thing she needed this summer was to be trapped alone with her thoughts about all that had happened.

Reaching for the only distraction she had, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and turned it back on.

…And frowned when she saw the five missed calls from the same familiar number.

Curiosity instantly took over, and she hit dial, bringing the phone up to her ear, as her father, Logan, and the funeral drifted into the background. He answered after the first ring, like he’d just been _waiting_ for her call.

“Veronica? Thank god. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon.” Cliff’s voice sounded worried, almost panicky.

It made her stomach turn nervously. “I was at the funeral,” she reminded him, making her voice lighter than she actually felt. “What’s up?”

“Can you get down to the prison?” he asked, words quick and anxious. “ASAP?”

She frowned. “I’m on my way home right now, but sure. What’s going—?”

“Just hurry,” he cut her off. “It’s an emergency.” And hung up.

Well, at least she wouldn’t have any more time to dwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you positively must discover what happens next, the whole story may be found over at [the host LiveJournal community](http://vm-summer.livejournal.com/1238.html) as long as it is not deleted. I accidentally jumped the gun on posting the prologue today, but I will soon begin posting a chapter a day of the 23 chapters. Cheers!


	2. The Start of Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weevil requests a favor from Veronica on behalf of a young girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [shizam23](http://shizam23.livejournal.com/).  
> Her notes: _Huge thanks to kantayra and truemyth for their help in planning this chapter. And even more thanks to kantayra, sarah_p,strippedpink and ladydisdain225 for beta-ing it into something readable!_

Veronica jumped in her chair as the distant echo of a metal door slamming shut reverberated through the sparse room. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the only other person in the room, a worn out looking woman with an anxious expression, too much makeup, and the distinct odor of gin clinging to her person, tapped her talon-like fingernails impatiently against the plastic divider separating each booth. Veronica glanced around again, scanning the room – not even a guard on this side of the window. Apparently Tuesday was a quiet day for visitors.

A low, harsh buzzing noise sounded from the other side of the glass and Veronica shifted in her seat, wincing as the ragged metal of the chair scraped her legs, to watch as a tall man with long stringy hair was nudged through the metal door. Behind him - a belligerent look on his face as he pulled free of the guard pushing him in Veronica’s direction - was Weevil. 

Veronica watched as he settled in the chair opposite her and lifted the handset. With a raised eyebrow, he shook the receiver mockingly in her direction and grinned as Veronica rolled her eyes and lifted her own receiver to speak. 

“Is community soap everything you hoped it would be?”

“And so much more. I have to say, Veronica – I’m touched. You dressed up just to visit little old me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, bub. I had a funeral to go to.”

“Yeah, well you look good. Course after a couple of weeks in here, so would a yeti.”

“Stop it. You’re making me blush.”

“You know, V, sooner or later you’re going to have to admit to yourself that you find me irresistible.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. What do you want, Weevil? Cliff said it was an ‘emergency’. What? The food not up to scratch? Is your mattress uncomfortable? I don’t think there’s a lot I can do about that.”

“Always business with you, isn’t it? Well, thanks for coming anyway.”

“You got lucky. Cliff does an excellent impression of a drama queen. Now, what’s this all about?”

“I need your help.” She shouldn’t have been surprised to hear him ask. After all, why would he have coerced her into coming down to the damn jail unless he needed something? But even so, Veronica was floored.

“That didn’t turn out so well for you last time. You know, if you’d just waited for me to—“

“What do they say, Veronica? Eye for an eye, and all that? I was tired of waiting.”

“And look where that got you!” Veronica clenched the phone tightly, fingernails digging into her skin and voice rising as she railed at Weevil – a week’s worth of pent up frustrations finally finding an easy target. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, wincing as her raised voice echoed through the room. A quick glance to the side confirmed that the older woman, the one she had earlier judged for being too emotional, too impatient, was now staring at Veronica with an irritated look on her face. 

Veronica forced herself to breathe, avoiding Weevil’s gaze.

“I have to get out of here. I’m sorry, Weevil. But there’s nothing I can do. You did what you did and—“

“It’s not about me. Can you just listen for a second? Please?”

Veronica swept a shaking hand over her face, at a loss to explain why she was so on edge, and nodded.

“There’s a girl in my neighborhood – Rosa Ramirez. She’s 12, watches the kids for my Grandma sometimes,” Weevil paused, staring at Veronica intently for a second as though to make sure she was really listening “My grandma was here yesterday. She said Rosa’s gone missing. Just didn’t show up at the house one day last week and no one’s seen or heard from her since.”

“Her parents?”

“Her father’s never been around, according to my grandma. Some rich, white dude who had a fling with the help and then took off when he got bored. Her mother works a couple of jobs – days at a diner downtown, nights as a cleaning lady at Kane Software. But Rosa’s a good kid. Takes care of herself, you know? Shows up to school, helps out in the neighborhood. She’s not the type to run away, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Are you sure? She couldn’t have decided to chase after her father or…”

“I know this girl, Veronica. She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave without telling someone. She’d promised my niece, Ophelia, to take her to the beach this weekend.”

“Has her mother reported her missing?”

“Yeah. Sheriff said there’s not much he can do. Claims kids that age nearly always come back by themselves once they’ve stopped sulking about being grounded or whatever.”

“He’s _such_ a jackass.”

“No argument here.”

“Has anyone tried getting the press involved – to get some attention focused that way?”

“Yeah – it rated two sentences buried somewhere on page 9. Her mother’s not rich enough for this town to care that her little girl’s missing.”

“Weevil--“

“Please, Veronica.”

“I can ask around.”

Another buzzer sounded in the distance and Weevil smiled ruefully.

“I think that’s my cue.”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Thanks.” Weevil winked at her once and walked away without a backwards glance. 

Cliff was waiting for her when she walked out of the sterile confines of the visiting room and retrieved her belongings from security.

“Are you getting soft in your old age, Cliff? The way you were talking on the phone, I thought they must have locked up _everyone_ who works at the ‘Seventh Veil’ this time.”

“Hey, my client makes one simple request, the least I can do is indulge him.”

“Aw, he batted those eyelashes at you, and it was all over, wasn’t it?”

“A child is missing. It’s a noble cause.” At Veronica’s incredulous stare, Cliff grinned “What? I can be noble when the occasion demands.”

“Noble, huh? See how noble it feels when my dad finds out you lured me down to the jail under false pretenses.”

“Hey, what the man doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Or hurt me.” Cliff slung an arm around her shoulder as they made their way out into the sun. “C’mon, V. Buy me a drink.”

“A drink? It’s 4.30 in the afternoon and technically I’m still underage. Remember?”

“Never too early for a post-jailhouse ale. And are you forgetting that I’ve seen your extensive collection of fake IDs. In fact, was it not I who liberated them from the Sheriff last year?”

“How about you buy me a coffee instead?”

“Party pooper.”

* * *

“Mime, Veronica? Seriously?” 

A lazy grin spread across Logan’s face as he leafed through one of the numerous brochures currently spread out across the floor of the Mars apartment. 

“They send information on everything. And I do mean _everything_ ,” Veronica responded as she brandished a leaflet extolling the virtues of fencing as the foundation of any good university education. 

“Why are you even worrying about this now?” Logan asked, crouching on the floor beside her as he moved aside another mound of paper. “You’ve got months.”

“I just want to get it out of the way. Be organized - unlike some people.”

“Yeah, well some people have better things to worry about,” Logan declared, snagging Veronica around the waist and pulling her into his lap.

“You won’t be able to distract me forever, you know,” Veronica muttered between kisses.

“Yeah, well I plan to give it the old college try.”

“Okay. Stop.” Veronica declared a few minutes later, pulling out of Logan’s grip. “Focus now, fun later.”

“I’m very focused,” Logan grumbled as he handed her another stack of leaflets.

“Yeah, imagine how impressed my dad’ll be when he comes home and finds us ‘focusing’ on the living room floor.”

That thought was more than enough to keep Logan in line, and dropping one last kiss to her shoulder, he turned his attention to the mess around them. “You should at least narrow it down a little. Where do you want to...focus?”

“I don’t know. History, English, journalism. We can probably rule mime out.”

“Are you sure? I’d be kind of fascinated to see if you could keep your mouth shut long enough to pass the course.”

Logan grinned as her hand connected with his shoulder in a mock punch. “Where is your dad, anyway? Working?”

“No idea. He’s not so much with the sharing lately.”

“Did you ever find out what Kendall wanted?”

“Nope. He says it’s ‘taken care of’.” The air quotes suggested Veronica wasn’t quite as okay with this lack of information as her careless tone would suggest, but as she went back to sorting through pamphlets with determined concentration, Logan decided to let it go.

“I can’t believe all of this paper. How is this stuff not online?”

“It is. But they print the pamphlets anyway.”

“How very environmentally conscious of them.” Logan let the shiny paper drift through his fingers and instead seized on a folder buried under the stack of brochures. Flipping it open, he scanned the contents before shifting to face Veronica.

“What’s this?” He asked, waving the folder filled with print outs of newspaper articles and scribbled notes at Veronica. 

“It’s nothing.” Veronica replied, snatching the folder away and stuffing it in her bag. 

“A case for your dad?”

“No. Just something…Weevil asked me to look into it. One of these girls baby-sits for his family.”

“Yeah, well if anyone needs a babysitter to keep them out of trouble it’s Weevil.” He paused, a confused expression crossing his face. “Wait, when did you to talk to Weevil?”

“A couple of days ago. I went to see him.”

“You went to the jail. Alone?” Logan’s voice rose as he stared at her. “Does your dad know about this?”

“I’m just going to ask around for him, Logan. It’s not a big deal.”

“Famous last words. God, did you ever think about how much trouble you could get into ‘asking around’ that neighborhood alone? Any more looking into things, I’m coming with you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re really popular in Weevil’s part of town. The PCH’ers would be _thrilled_ to have you around.”

“Cleared of all charges, Veronica.”

“Angry bikers hold grudges, Logan. I’m pretty sure they’re still not part of the Logan Echolls fan club.”

Veronica started as a key sounded in the lock and she shoved the folder deeper into her bag. “Look, we can talk about this later. Just don’t mention it to Dad. Please?” 

Logan nodded reluctantly, pasting a cautious smile on his face as the door swung open.

“Hello, daughter. Logan. Are we behaving ourselves today?” Keith entered the room with a grin, casting a wary eye in Logan’s direction as he set grocery bags down on the counter.

“Mr. Mars.” Logan greeted him, scooting a little further away from Veronica. Just in case.

“How was work?” Veronica asked, smiling at her father as she shuffled her pile of leaflets together. 

“I’m glad you asked, daughter-of-mine. Actually, business has been good. Very good. And it’s time we celebrate. How about going out to dinner tomorrow night, maybe try that new Italian place near the marina?”

“Sounds great.”

“Excellent. Logan, why don’t you join us?”

As Veronica gaped at her father, Logan nodded awkwardly. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

“What are you kids looking at?”

“Classes. Course outlines for next year. I’m trying to get a jump on the whole schedule planning thing.”

“Any luck?” 

“Well, there are a couple of core classes that everyone has to take. Other than that – some literature classes, journalism, everything. Too many choices.”

“I voted for mime,” Logan piped up, earning an eye roll from Veronica.

“I’m going to try and sign up for the first year psychology course – it’s pretty hard to get into freshman year apparently, the professor’s some big deal.”

“Nora Harding, right? Alicia took me to a lecture she gave on campus last year. ‘Dealing with Challenging Adolescents’.”

“And why would Alicia think you needed a course like that?” Veronica demanded, only half joking. 

“It’s a mystery to us both, honey. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll get in.” 

“I hope so. Hey, did you know James Chenery has taken over as head of the journalism school at Hearst? He was editor of the Times until he retired last year.” 

“Wow. Look at that – an excellent education and close enough to home that you can still have dinner with the old man from time to time. Does it get any better than that?”

“Dessert for dinner night lives,” Veronica replied airily, casting the papers aside. “But I’ve had enough of thinking about school. Time for fun! Are you home for dinner tonight?”

“No, honey – I’m heading out again now. But I got plenty of food,” Keith replied, turning his attention to the bags he’d brought in with him “Hot dogs, mac and cheese, frozen pizza. All the processed food your little heart desires.”

“Yum.”

“I’ll be home later. Don’t you stay out too late, either, okay?”

“Yes, Dad,” Veronica’s eye rolling muscles were really getting a workout. “I’ll see you later.”

Veronica rested her head against Logan’s shoulder as she watched Keith leave again. It had been like that ever since he’d ditched her at the airport. Hello, goodbye, and ask no questions that required an actual answer. “Let’s go do something.” She jumped to her feet, extending a hand to Logan to haul him up too.

“Veronica – “

“Beach, maybe?” She asked, turning to summon her dog from his lounging place on the sofa. “C’mon, Backup, you want to take a walk?”

“Veronica, can we talk for a second?”

“About what?” She asked, refusing to meet his gaze as she rubbed Backup’s ears and attached his leash.

“I don’t know. Investigating for Weevil, this mysterious case you’re working on with your dad that mainly seems to involve awkward conversations, whatever’s going on with us…”

“Logan, I know we need to talk, but not yet, okay? Let’s just forget about it all for a little longer. Please?”

“You can’t just pretend it’s not there, Veronica. We said we were going to do this right this time.”

“Fine,” her voice rose as she dropped the leash and faced him full on. “You want to talk, let’s talk. I want to talk about your dad dying, Logan. How do you feel about that? Or how about your complete refusal to make any kind of plans for anything beyond the weekend? What are you going to do with your life now that high school’s over, Logan? Let’s talk about some of that.” 

Logan remained silent, meeting her gaze but unable to speak. Veronica nodded.

“That’s what I thought. C’mon Backup.”

Logan hesitated for a moment before giving in and following her out the door. 

“We’re not going to the beach, are we?”

* * *

“So what are we doing here again?” Logan demanded, taking in the unfamiliar scenery around him.

“Talk to the neighbors, Rosa’s mother, finding out if anyone saw anything.”

“Isn’t the policy around here that nobody sees anything, ever?”

“You’re the homeowner. You tell me.”

“What?”

“Weevil’s grandma. Didn’t you buy her house out from under her?”

“He burned mine down first.”

“God, what planet do we live on that that almost seems like it makes sense.”

“Welcome to Neptune.”

“Couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Like you would have. Come on, let’s go investigate. Or do whatever it is that you do.” 

“I told you, I’m fine. You really don’t need to be here.”

“Yeah, call me skeptical, but you seem to have this knack for getting into trouble.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“All I’m saying is it can’t hurt to have some back up.”

As Backup yelped from the backseat at the sound of his name, Veronica grinned, leaning across the console to give Logan a quick kiss before jumping out of the car.

“C’mon then boy wonder. Let’s go.”

“I gave the house back, you know,” Logan muttered quietly as they approached the broken down steps of Rosa Ramirez’s home.

“I know,” Veronica replied quietly as she knocked on the door.

* * *

An hour later, they made their way back down the creaky steps. 

“Well, that was fun,” Logan declared, hiding sympathy behind sarcasm. “How come I haven’t heard about this kid being missing? Shouldn’t it be all over the news? And what about those alert thingies?”

“Single parent family from the bad end of town, the press just doesn’t care,” Veronica replied, slumping back into her seat and pulling a folder from under Backup in the backseat. “I tried talking to Lamb—“

“You _are_ a masochist, aren’t you?”

“He insists she’s a runaway. Supposedly she mentioned to a friend that she wanted to find her father, so Lamb decided she’s off in search of daddy, that’s it, end of story. He wouldn’t even listen to me when I tried to explain the situation.”

“How is he still employed?”

“It’s the original unsolved mystery.” 

“But Rosa’s mom said she wouldn’t run away like that. I mean - she said Rosa’s a good student, friends with everyone… the girl just signed up for swimming lessons, that doesn’t sound like someone who was planning to run away, does it?”

“We’ll make a detective out of you yet. And you’re right. It doesn’t make sense. She’s not the only one either. I was talking to one of Weevil’s nephews, and it turns out there was another girl in his class who was about the same age and it’s the same sort of situation. She just didn’t come home one day. That one made the paper a couple of times, at least.” Veronica explained, handing over the articles for Logan to flip through.

“Marisol Reyes? I never heard about any of this.”

“Neither had I, until last year. It was right around when Lilly…” She trailed off uncomfortably. “I guess we weren’t paying attention to much else.”

“How did you hear last year then?”

“Well…” Catching sight of Veronica’s vaguely guilty expression, Logan quickly decided there was a story here that he needed to hear.

“Spill, Veronica.”

“I may or may not have overheard Weevil mention it to someone.”

“And how did you ‘overhear’ him talking about a missing girl?”

“I might have…bugged Miss James’ office,” Veronica mumbled quickly, glancing at Logan out of the corner of her eye as she waited for him to put the pieces together.

He could only stare at her with a mixture of fascinated horror and…was that…admiration? Logan opened his mouth, not entirely sure what he wanted to say, when a little girl running down the steps of the house they had just visited caught his attention.

“Stay here.” Before he could protest Veronica had leapt out of the car again and was crouching on the sidewalk in front of the girl and her two friends, who had materialized in front of them on bikes. Logan watched as a grinning Veronica talked to the girls, amazed at her ability to switch in a heartbeat from jaded and cynical to perky friend of the pre-teen. It was sort of terrifying, he decided, as he rolled down the window to eavesdrop on the conversation. 

“Hi Sara,” Veronica greeted the girl with a smile. “I’m Veronica. Remember? I was just in the house talking to your mom.”

“About Rosa.” The little girl’s expression was serious as she stared up at Veronica.

“You must be really worried about your sister, huh?”

“I want her to come home now.”

“I know you do. I’m going to try and help your mommy find her. But I need your help. Do you think you can do that?”

The girl, and her friends, nodded as Veronica continued. “Have you seen anybody new, anyone you haven’t seen before, hanging around your house? Or near school, maybe?”

“No. We’re not allowed to talk to strangers. Rosa tells me that all the time.”

“She does, huh. It sounds like she’s a great big sister.”

As Sara nodded, one of the other girls whispered something in her ear.

“Louise says I should tell you about the car,” Sara piped up after listening to her friend.

“What car is that?” Veronica asked, trying not to betray her excitement at the potential lead.

“It parks on our block, sometimes.”

“But it doesn’t belong to anyone you know?” All three kids shook their heads in unison.

“Do you know what kind of car it is?” Again the girls shook their heads.

“My brother says it’s a totally sweet ride,” the little girl called Louise piped up, prompting a grin from Veronica.

“Would he know what kind of car it is, do you think? Could I ask him?”

“He’s at camp. He doesn’t know very much anyway.”

“How about this - do you remember any of the letters or numbers from the license plate?”  
Veronica swallowed a sigh of frustration as once again, the kids shook their heads no.

“It was the same color as my bike.” The third girl piped up, pointing to her navy blue bicycle.

“This color right here?” Veronica confirmed, pointing at the bike again. The girl nodded firmly in response.

“Okay. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Are you going to find Rosa now?” Sara asked.

“I’m going to try,” Veronica replied, attempting to look confident as she smiled at the group before her.

The smile slipped from her face as the girls cycled off, and she returned to the car.

“Did you hear all that?” She asked.

“Most of it. That car. That’s not a good sign, right?”

“Probably not.” Veronica slumped back in her seat, defeat and frustration washing over her.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Logan asked, reaching across to rub her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” She shook his hand off, folding her arms defiantly across her chest, her body language screaming ‘don’t push me.’

Logan pulled the folder out again and flipped it open. “Rosa, this other girl – Marisol whatever - there are some things you can’t fix, Veronica, no matter how much you want to.”

“What, so I just shouldn’t try? It doesn’t directly affect me so who cares, right? That’s a great attitude, Logan.”

“That’s not what I meant, Veronica.”

“Whatever. Look I’m not asking you to care about this so just drop it.” 

“I just—“

“Let’s go, Logan. I have to get changed for dinner tonight.”

“Fine.”

* * *

“Your dad’s meeting us here?”

“That’s what he said,” Veronica replied in a clipped tone, twisting her napkin between her fingers as she avoided Logan’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Veronica, all right? It’s just that I’m worried about you. About all of this.”

She finally looked at him, relaxing a little bit as she reached out to clasp his hand across the table. “I’m just not ready to talk about it yet. And I definitely don’t want to talk about it now.”

“Talk about what?” Keith asked as he came to a stop at their table.

“Nothing,” Logan and Veronica replied in unison, as Logan stood. 

“Men’s room,” Logan explained as he shuffled out of the booth and passed Keith. “I’ll be right back.”

Logan looked over his shoulder as he moved through the restaurant. Keith and Veronica were talking but even he could see the difference in their demeanor. Just a little bit of tension, a distance that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t like Logan could call himself an expert on anything resembling a healthy family relationship and Veronica seemed pretty determined to maintain her silence on the subject, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just _off_. 

As he walked back to the table, Logan considered the pros and cons of just bowing out of dinner altogether reasoning that maybe some time alone would help Veronica and Keith fix whatever the problem was. He watched Veronica smile at her father – a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes – and a light reflecting off the window beside her head caught his attention.

Logan lurched forward, with instincts that might have made his action hero father proud if things were different, and seized Keith’s elbow, yanking him toward the floor. 

Veronica’s startled, accusatory cry rang in his ears even as the piercing whistle of a bullet drowned out her voice.

As a second and third shot flew above them and screams echoed throughout the restaurant, Logan found himself unable to look away from the look of abject horror on Veronica’s face as she crouched under the table and stared – mesmerized – at the ever widening circle of blood surrounding her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will update with one chapter a day! Happy reading!
> 
> If you positively must discover what happens next, the whole story may be found over at [the host LiveJournal community](http://vm-summer.livejournal.com/1371.html) or at least until LiveJournal explodes or whatever.


	3. Queen Bees and Hostilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madison Sinclair has a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by disdainfulady. My thanks to shizam23 and mutinousmuse for their awesome beta work, and to sarah_p, lost1, kantayra, and truemyth for their additional assistance.

The heavy double doors swung shut, swallowing the manic frenzy that surrounded Keith and leaving Veronica to the dubious comfort of an empty waiting room.

It was not a room likely to inspire solace. The muted florals and impressionist landscapes that dotted the walls of the other wings had been abandoned here, exposing vast distances of blank wall. The single wall clock, an all-important icon to be regarded with an almost religious fervor by those unfortunate enough to be waiting, swam in an ocean of toothpaste-colored cement blocks. There would be nothing to cushion the blow, once the worst was finally known.

No one waiting here was expecting _good_ news. The most they could hope for was that it wasn’t as bad as they’d feared.

Veronica felt drained.

The initial feeling of panic had faded, leaving behind a horrible sort of hollow feeling. It was wrong. Her father – dad – daddy – had been shot, and she couldn’t muster up the energy to feel anything. She’d barely processed the fact that she hadn’t lost him two weeks ago; it was as if she couldn’t comprehend the possibility of losing him now.

Not that she was losing him. She wasn’t. Couldn’t. People didn’t die from shoulder wounds. He’d have a few days mandatory bed rest that he’d do his best to get out of, maybe some physical therapy and a hell of a scar, but he’d be fine.

He’d be fine.

Although the blocky hospital chair really wasn’t big enough for such a maneuver, Veronica hugged her knees to her chest as she flashed vividly back to her four year old self - back to the first time she’d spent the night in the emergency room, waiting to hear if her father was going to be okay.

It wasn’t a dramatic story. There were no heroics, no grand scenes. Her dad had stopped someone for a routine traffic violation and been shot by a car thief with an itchy trigger finger. Two bullets had lacerated his stomach and for a while no one had been sure if he was going to make it.

Of course she hadn’t known that at the time. No one had told her anything for fear they might upset her. All she knew was that mommy was crying and no one would let her see daddy and that was enough to strike terror in a four year old heart.

She remembered promising to be good, certain that her tendency to leave her toys on the stairwell had somehow precipitated the situation – a notion that seemed confirmed when Keith pulled through a day after she made her bargain. 

Three weeks later she’d broken her mother’s good lamp and been inconsolable, believing that her failure would make daddy go away again.

Now she sat, stiff and numb – it had only been five minutes according to the clock on the wall but it felt like hours, weeks, that she’d been waiting. Maybe she’d never stopped. Maybe she never could.

She closed her eyes tightly, burying her face in her hands and wishing she could shut out the questions niggling at the back of her mind as easily.

Someone had shot at Keith.

No, scratch that.

Someone had tried to _murder_ him.

Why? What had he been doing? Did it have anything to do with the case he wouldn’t tell her about? Was it the Kendall case? Had he known he was in danger?

If Logan hadn’t been there would he have –

But she couldn’t finish the thought. She returned her gaze to the clock, trying to work out what was a reasonable time to hope for news. She knew it couldn’t be too soon. Too soon would mean there was nothing they could do, too soon meant tragedy. She’d just been to the funeral of her boyfriend’s father – however he might be appalled by that designation – she couldn’t go to the funeral of her own.

She couldn’t lose him. She’d hadn’t even really got him back yet.

Someone moved to block her view of the wall clock, but before she could rouse herself from her stupor enough to voice her protest, the person swam into focus, and she propelled herself out of her chair and into Logan’s arms with a force that astonished her.

He’d told her he would follow the ambulance, but it hadn’t registered. Nothing had registered except her father’s face and the blood – too much blood – and she hadn’t realized how alone she’d felt till he was holding her against him, filling that aching void with his familiar presence.

He was saying exactly the right things – words of reassurance, words of comfort – and his arms were wonderfully solid round her back, but she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever stop having to comfort each other while the world fell apart around them.

She wound up curled up in his lap. The uncomfortable wooden armrest dug into her back with a bruising force, but the separation required to grant her a chair of her own was untenable. 

They sat like that for hours while the sky outside lightened and the feeling in the pit of her stomach worsened.

Maybe there had been too much blood loss. Maybe there was an unforeseen complication. Maybe –

The anxiety she’d thought had vanished behind cold anticipation reasserted itself and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to barge through the surgery doors and demand information or flee before someone could tell her the worst.

She still hadn’t decided when a haggard looking figure in salmon scrubs pushed through the surgery doors and made a beeline her direction.

“Miss Mars?”

Veronica was busy studying the woman’s face, trying to identify the nature of her news, but the words “pulled through admirably” settled on her ears and for the first time that night she found herself crying.

The woman was evidently used to such displays; she merely smiled kindly and continued with the litany of information that it was her duty to convey. Insurance forms, prescriptions for painkillers, a list of things that Keith was on no account to do for at least six weeks (with no mention of how to keep him from doing them) – the barrage of instructions seemed endless and all the time the woman wouldn’t tell Veronica the one thing she wanted to know.

Finally Logan interrupted, and in a move that made her seriously wonder if she loved him, asked quietly and firmly when they could see Keith.

The woman looked irritated by the interruption of her spiel, but asserted that Miss Mars could see her father now, although he wasn’t likely to be aware of anything for several more hours. Unfortunately, she continued, with an uncertain glance at Logan, visitors had to be limited to family only, so unless the young man was a relation?

Logan turned to Veronica, his expression on of concern. “I can wait out here if you want me to.”

Veronica shook her head. She didn’t know how long she’d be and it was already nearly dawn. Logan squeezed her hand one last time before stepping away, 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” she affirmed quietly, her eyes thanking him wordlessly before she turned and followed the woman through the thick doors to her father’s bedside.

* * *

Veronica sat perched at her father’s desk at Mars Investigations, poring over the dossier of Rosa Beatriz Ramirez in a fruitless effort to distract herself from the worry coursing through her veins.

She’d sat by her father’s bedside till eight in the morning, exhausting the meager supply of outdated magazines that served as the hospital’s sole concession to the length of her wait.

Keith had looked so drawn and pale – ghostlike – against the hospital sheets and she felt another stab of anguish as she thought about what had very nearly happened.

She’d thought it would be better when he awoke, but in a way, it was almost worse. He’d attempted reassurance and his customary good humor, but he was like a pale shadow of himself and the weakness of his laughter scared her more than his silence would have.

She hadn’t wanted to leave him.

She’d been prepared for his many concerns, an answer ready for every possible objection. He needed her, and that was all that mattered. No matter what, she was staying by his side.

But he’d grown so agitated when she attempted to force the issue that she found herself backing down without a fight, scared of what might happen if he got overexcited.

She should have been attempting to recover lost hours of sleep – she’d been awake for nearly twenty four hours after all – but every time she closed her eyes, the image of her father’s prone body presented itself and she couldn’t rest.

So she’d given up and gone into the office, determined to do something useful with this enforced wakefulness. Some masochistic spirit made her sit at Keith’s desk instead of her own, surrounding herself with reminders of what she’d almost lost again.

Pulling out her notes on the disappearing girl, she’d been prepared to make some major headway; it was only after she’d read the same page twenty times that she had to acknowledge that it wasn’t working – her mind kept straying to the only case that mattered now. 

Someone had tried to kill her father, and she’d be bringing them down before they got a chance to try it again.

Opening a new case file, Veronica began to enter the facts as she knew them. They were distressingly few. It occurred to her that the Sheriff’s Department would have already started an investigation and that looking at their information might give her a better jumping off point than the nothing she herself was presented with.

She’d just resolved to go down there, no matter how painful dealing with Lamb would be, when the outer office door opened with a bang and she realized to her dismay that she’d forgotten to lock up behind her. 

That regret only intensified when she went out to greet her potential client.

Madison Sinclair stood hovering in the doorway of Mars Investigations like a vampire waiting for an invitation to enter, viewing her surroundings with such distaste that you’d think it was a vermin infested crack den.

“What are you doing here?”

Madison turned at the sound of Veronica’s voice, and while she didn’t lose her expression of disgust, she did allow herself to cross the threshold.

For a long moment she simply stared at Veronica, seemingly unwilling to actually do anything as crazy as speak to the person whose office she had invaded. Finally, when Veronica was about to explain that her telepathic powers weren’t exactly working at the moment, she spoke:

“I need your help.”

It wasn’t exactly an unexpected response, but it threw Veronica for a loop anyway, although she didn’t hesitate to respond that admitting one had a problem was always the first step.

Madison looked annoyed, an expression that was actually somewhat less offensive than the way she’d been regarding Veronica up to that point. She stalked further into the room. “For real, okay? This is serious.”

Veronica sighed and settled herself behind her desk, gesturing for Madison to take one of the other seats.

“Fine, you can have this month’s Cosmo, but I’m warning you, I’ve already done the quizzes.”

Veronica doubted the other girl would have looked more outraged if she’d slapped her. Madison moved to stand, clutching her oversized purse to her body as she glared at Veronica with unmistakable hatred.

“God, I can’t believe I actually thought _you_ could help me. Just forget it.”

Veronica was tempted to do just that. Madison Sinclair hadn’t quite made the top ten list of Things She Was Glad To Leave Behind When She Graduated, but she _had_ snuck in at number thirteen. However, she knew she was equally high on Madison’s personal list of hatreds, so the idea that the girl would voluntarily come to her for help was beyond comprehension. 

Her curiosity, always a problem, got the best of her, and she found herself stating, “You’ve got five minutes.”

The other girl hesitated, no doubt debating whether her problem was actually severe enough to warrant the hell Veronica was going to give her for coming to her. Veronica seriously doubted it was, but after a moment, Madison returned to her seat and began to explain.

For the past few weeks, someone had been harassing her. It was just little things at first – she’d been locked out of her MySpace account, she’d gotten a couple of threatening emails, but it wasn’t really a big deal.

But then all her credit cards had been demagnetized -

“So you’ll be paying by check?”

Madison glared and continued as though Veronica hadn’t interrupted, explaining that the previous Friday someone had actually removed the steering wheel to her car while she was at the movies.

“I’d _just_ taken it into the shop to have it worked on, too. I know we aren’t exactly friends or whatever, but I need you to make this stop.”

Veronica wasn’t particularly feeling the urge to go out and right this particular wrong. She’d long passed the giddy stage where staying up for hours on end seems like a strangely attractive idea and had moved into pure exhaustion, a deep bone weariness that was as much emotional as it was physical.

But, they could use the money. And the sophomore within who’d come home and cried every day for three months after Lilly died practically demanded she take advantage of the fact that Madison Sinclair was at her mercy.

She sighed.

“So you want me to find out who’s been harassing you?”

Madison gave an exaggerated eye-roll as though the question was somehow ridiculous and Veronica wondered if she’d simply imagined the conversation they’d just had.

“I already know who it is. I need you to find proof.”

“Detective work gets so much easier when other people do the actual detecting for me. So who is it?”

“You remember the computer freak who was dating Beaver before he turned out to be psycho and killed himself?”

Veronica clenched her jaw, reminding herself that however tempting it was, Dad tended to disapprove when she punched the clients in their overly made-up faces.

“Why would Mac harass you? Besides your obvious charms that is.”

For a second, Madison looked afraid – desperate to backtrack, like she hadn’t thought this far ahead and would rather drop the subject than answer the question. Then she steeled her shoulders and continued.

“Everything said in here is confidential, right?”

“Well, sort of. I mean, if a court subpoenas me, I _will_ have to tell them that you have a MySpace account. But otherwise, yeah, this is a gossip-free zone.”

“Look, it’s a long story. A few weeks ago, I found out that when we were little, she and I…“

Madison looked sincerely uncomfortable. A deep-set unhappiness had taken over her features, and Veronica, to her surprise found herself anxious to relieve it. It was one thing to want your enemy brought down; it was another to see her helpless and lost.

Then the light dawned.

“You know about the baby swap,” Veronica said hurriedly, since it didn’t seem like Madison was actually capable of getting the words out.

The other girl went pale. “How do you know about that?”

“I know things,” Veronica said, almost apologetically. “Look, I hate to break it to you, but Mac has known about that for a year and a half now.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and if she was going to blame you for stealing her life, she’d probably have done it a little sooner. Just my guess.”

Madison silent, her face a mass of conflicting emotions and again, Veronica found herself anxious to relieve the other girl’s tension.

“But I’ll look into it for you, okay?”

It occurred to Veronica that she was offering to assist Madison Sinclair, not for the joy of holding something over her, not even for the very valid need for money, but to make the other girl feel better. Perhaps she’d caught something while she was at the hospital.

“Why me, though?” she couldn’t help asking. “Why don’t you just go to the cops? I mean, I would have thought that would be your first choice.”

Madison reddened, but seemed more livid than embarrassed, an expression Veronica was much more comfortable with than her previous anguished one. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You and Lamb, I mean it’s pretty common knowledge that the two of you are…” Veronica paused while she tried to think of an appropriate description. She had a feeling ‘fuck buddies’ wouldn’t go over so well. “An item.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but your source is about as up to date as your outfit.”

And just like that it was possible to lose all sympathy, and in fact want to hunt down the harasser and tell him or her ‘job well done.’

“Insulting my clothes. Politic and original. Bravo.”

Madison hesitated for a moment before muttering, “Look, Lamb’s a creep, okay?”

“So… you two are soul mates. Continue.”

“I’m serious. When I stopped taking his calls, he totally freaked out. I mean, I was actually scared.”

Veronica shook her head. “He freaked out to the point that you felt physically afraid and you never thought that might be important when you started getting harassed?”

“You mean, you think-“

Remembering her earlier resolution, Veronica cut her off. “I’ll tell you what. I had to go to the Sheriff’s station anyway, I’ll check in, see if he has an alibi for Friday night. Oh, and that’ll be five hundred dollars.” 

Veronica smiled somewhat regretfully to herself. She’d wanted a distraction.

* * *

“Veronica Mars.”

“Deputy.”

Deputy Sacks shuffled nervously behind the desk, as ever about as intimidating as a three week old kitten.

“What brings you here?”

It probably wasn’t fair to torture the poor man. It was, however, fun.

“Actually, I came to give you some advice. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Rick Springfield as much as the next girl, but there _are_ other artists out there.” The man had turned beet red, but she persisted. “It’s just, we tend to get pretty much the same crowd every karaoke night, so they’ve all heard your rendition of “Jessie’s Girl”. A lot.”

Sacks was frozen, a deer in the headlights, seemingly incapable of speech. Which meant it was probably a good time to ask about seeing Lamb.

“So, I’m just gonna step in and see the big guy. That’s okay, right?”

The deputy nodded abstractedly as he busied himself with some papers at his desk, quite obviously only interested in ending their own interview, his face still a vivid scarlet.

She moved along the narrow corridor towards Lamb’s office, delighted to find the door ajar. Knocking would give the man preparation time, after all.

“This is what we pay your salary for?”

Lamb looked up from the pegboard game he was currently well on his way to losing, a guilty look sliding over his face for a moment before being replaced by his habitual sneer.

“Funny, I thought I had people at the desk specifically to keep you out.”

“All that effort for little old me? I’m touched.”

“What do you want, Mars?”

She stepped forward, Madison’s case momentarily forgotten. “I wanted to know how the investigation was going. If you’d gotten any leads yet.”

Lamb looked back at her innocently. “Case?”

Veronica felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the extreme air-conditioning that Lamb seemed to require for his office.

“You remember. My dad was _shot_ last night? In plain view in a heavily populated area?”

Leaning back so far in his desk chair that Veronica actually felt hopeful the damn thing would tip over, Lamb nodded his comprehension. “Oh right, I heard something about that. Shame. But then, accidents will happen.”

“Accidents? Someone fired three times.”

“Guns are tricky things.”

Veronica stiffened. “He could have _died_ and you’re-“

“Look, someone who gets involved in the kind of thing your dad’s doing right now knows about the risks. This is what happens when you poke your nose in where it doesn’t belong.” Lamb’s grin broadened at the look on her face.

“You’re honestly not going to investigate?”

“I’m not going to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.” After a moment, he continued cheerfully, as though a thought had just struck him, “I’ll tell you what though, I’ll send over a nice bouquet, courtesy of the department, no holds barred. Now was there anything else?”

Veronica had been focusing very carefully on the items on Lamb’s desk. Letting her eyes trace over the phone and computer, the papers, pegboard, and yo-yo. Anything to avoid looking at Lamb. At his question, though, she looked up sharply, regarding him with an icy gaze. “Yeah, where were you last Friday?”

If she hadn’t been watching for the flinch, she wouldn’t have seen it. However, it was there – even if it was minute – and she knew that whatever answer he gave, it wouldn’t be the full truth.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just a case I’m working on for an old classmate. Madison Sinclair? I heard you two were close. Well, before she dumped you.”

“Madison Sinclair,” Lamb mused. “Yeah, I might remember her. Cute kid. Little naïve though. Really not worth the time and effort it took to baby-sit her, so I let her go. Needed someone who actually knew what they were doing.”

“I understand. You want the job done right, you hire a professional.”

“You know, I’m surprised you two are so friendly. From the things she’d said, I kinda got the impression that she hated you.”

“Oh, high school drama, old history.” Veronica said breezily. “So, Friday?”

“Actually, I was out Friday,” Lamb said smoothly, although his watchful glance belied his apparent ease. “Hot little thing, unlike your friend.”

Veronica smiled. “Aw, can I get her number? Maybe she could give Madison some tips.”

“Yeah, we didn’t so much exchange numbers. Or names. She did have a tattoo of a heart on her ass if that helps.”

“You have no idea how much.” 

Veronica was about ready to call it a day, when Lamb called after her, his eyes narrowed. 

“Tell your dad ‘hi’ from me, okay? It’s tough when your sins catch up to you.”

“You’d know,” Veronica choked out.

It wasn’t the best possible response, but Veronica was more shaken than she was willing to admit. She told herself that Lamb was just trying to throw her – and it was probably true – but his insinuations tallied too closely to her own fears for comfort.

Suddenly the thought of bringing Lamb down for stalking Madison Sinclair was extremely palatable.

There was no point in pursuing the mythical stripper with the heart tattoo. The one thing she felt certain of was that Lamb had been lying about his whereabouts. He’d looked almost frightened when she’d pressed him about Friday. Whatever he was doing, it was something he’d wanted to keep secret.

A quick interview with Inga allowed Veronica to determine that Lamb hadn’t been on duty Friday night – hardly surprising given that Lamb had scarcely worked a single weekend night since his elevation to sheriff two and a half years ago. It was good to know, but it got her no closer to verifying an alibi. 

On impulse, Veronica decided to follow Lamb once he took off work at the obscenely early hour of one in the afternoon. Maybe she’d get lucky and he’d slip up.

Had someone followed her father the night before? Or had they known where he was going to be?

Each option presented possibilities she didn’t want to consider, but unfortunately, her forced passivity while she waited for Lamb to emerge offered no distraction from the worry that Madison’s unexpected visit had effectively pushed to the side.

Over and over again, she heard the sharp cracks of gunfire, saw Logan lunging, felt the panic as she knelt by her father, the knees of her pants soaking in an ever-widening circle of blood.

She shrugged away the images, and all the memories they triggered, flipping on the radio in an effort to distract herself while she willed Lamb to just leave already.

Fortunately Lamb didn’t seem to require the same discipline in himself that she knew he demanded of his deputies. He was out the door at 12:47, and twenty minutes later, after an extremely exciting trip to a grocery store, he was pulling into a small condo that she’d bet anything was not his. It was too nice, painstakingly cared for, and not in the impersonal way achieved by a five person gardening staff.

To Veronica’s surprise, Lamb didn’t stay long – maybe ten minutes – and she was torn between continuing to follow him, and finding out who he’d been visiting. Bringing home groceries was so _domestic_ that she was almost willing to believe he’d found a girlfriend after all.

And clearly there was something wrong with _that_ idea.

Mind made up, Veronica approached the house, deciding she could leave the Lamb shadowing for later. She had already knocked on the door, when she realized that her usual cover of writing an article for the Navigator was currently less than plausible and had yet to come up with a new story before the door was opened by a cheerful looking woman of about sixty. 

“Can I help you, dear?”

Veronica blanked. She had no idea what to say to this woman. She could think of no reasonable explanation for her presence, and finally, simply muttered that she was looking for Sheriff Lamb.

The other woman took in her apparent confusion and utter loss for words and seemed to reach some sort of conclusion. She nodded her head firmly and told Veronica to “come in, dear.”

Only when Veronica was ensconced in a comfortable chair with an actual cup of hot tea – never mind that it was summer in California – did she speak again, her tone gentle and sympathetic.

“You’re my Donny’s young lady friend, aren’t you?”

Veronica had thought she was at a loss for words before, but that was nothing compared to what _that_ pronouncement brought on. However, she recognized the opening for what it was, and after a long pause that she covered by inhaling her tea, she allowed herself to tearfully wonder if “Don had talked about her.” She couldn’t call him Donny. Wouldn’t. Except to his face, which might be rather fun.

“Well, not much, you know Donny, he’s very private.” Veronica nodded sagely. “But he got so upset after you two had your… falling out, that I sat him down and demanded he tell me. A mother’s prerogative, you know.”

Veronica didn’t trust herself enough to speak, so she contented herself with nodding again.

“He’s such a sensitive boy. Oh I know he can be difficult sometimes, but he’s so sweet underneath it all. A heart of gold. And so smart. You know he’s the youngest sheriff we’ve ever had?”

“So, he was upset about how things ended between the two of us?”

“Oh yes, just took to moping round the house. I’ve been doing everything I could to distract him, but he wouldn’t join my book club, and I honestly don’t think he enjoys the dancing lessons, although he’d never complain.

“Dancing lessons?”

“Every Tuesday and Friday night. He’s a wonderful dancer.” The woman leaned forward, her face earnest and hopeful. “I hope I’m not prying dear, but, you did come here looking for him – do you think there’s a chance you two might get back together?”

Veronica looked at this sweet, kindly woman and couldn’t bring herself to let her down.

“Honestly? I’m not sure he’ll take me back.”

* * *

“You pretended to be dating Sheriff Lamb?” Mac didn’t bother to hide her giggles as she took in the exasperated look on Veronica’s face.

“Not dating him, just… his ex,” Veronica protested, realizing she had made a tactical error when choosing to share this particular piece of information.

“His ex who desperately wanted him back.”

Veronica glared at the oh-so-amused brunette. “Don’t you have a job to get back to?”

“I’m due for a break.”

“I’ll break you if we continue this line of conversation.”

“You’re so touchy when you’re crossed in love.”

Veronica pointedly ignored that latter’s sally, choosing instead to devote her attention to her two scoops of cookie dough ice cream. 

“So what are you doing working here anyway? I thought customer service was only for us lesser mortals who weren’t web designing our way through college.”

Mac sighed as she hitched herself up on the chair next to Veronica. “Oh, that is such a long, painful story.”

“So? I’m into pain. I actually have a whole assortment of whips and chains back at home.”

“Logan’s a lucky man,” Mac smirked, smoothing back the hair that had escaped her otherwise tidy bun.

“Do not think you can quip your way out of this one, missy.” Veronica waved her spoon at Mac, in a mock menacing manner.

“Basically, my Dad doesn’t think anything that I can do from home qualifies as a ‘real’ job, and he’s anxious that I get some work experience before venturing out into the terrifying world. He actually wanted me to come work at the shop – apparently Funtime Motors puts the “fun” in working, and, well, the fact that he actually used that slogan with a straight face meant I can’t speak to him again for at least another two weeks.”

Mac laughed, but then grew quieter.

“They’re just anxious though. I know Mom thinks I’m spending too much time alone since…” she paused and Veronica could see the hurt underlying her cheerful demeanor. “Since what happened. She wants me out interacting with people. It sucks. My feet hurt, I don’t think I’ll ever get the strawberry ice cream out of my grey pants, and the customers are a nightmare”

“Should I be offended?”

“Okay, seriously, four hours of Shelly Pomroy and John Enbom confusing ‘waitress’ and ‘slave’ and we can talk.”

“Been there. Done that.” Veronica shook her head in disgust. “So you’re drawing the 09er crowd here, too?”

“Oh it’s their favorite hangout, and I have to say, I liked it better when I was under their radar. Ever since Beaver, well, I’ve lost my anonymity.” She shrugged her shoulders with a carelessness that Veronica was suddenly certain she didn’t feel. “It’s still easier than arguing it out with my dad.”

Veronica considered pressing the issue, but decided that she of all people should not be trying to press someone else into talking. Instead she allowed herself a dreamy reflective look, as she sighed, “Ah, parents.” 

“About that,” Mac started, and then hesitated, “I heard about your dad. Is he okay?”

Veronica sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I hope so.” She spooned the last of her melted ice cream up. “I was going to stop by again in a little bit; he wasn’t really up for visitors this morning.”

“Well, tell him I said ‘hi,’ okay?”

“Will do.” Veronica hopped down from her seat. “And you’ll trace those emails for me?”

“I’ll try, but Veronica, if you’re looking for someone who doesn’t like Madison Sinclair, you might be at this a while.”

“I know, I know. How do I get myself into these things?”

* * *

“Dancing lessons? With his mother?” Keith couldn’t help grinning, and Veronica noted with relief that his color was much better than it had been earlier that morning.

“I thought you’d like that.”

He beamed at her, closing his hand over hers and she again felt the momentary panic of what she’d almost lost. “Best get well gift I could imagine.” 

“So I guess you won’t be wanting this special edition of Zoolander then? Okay.”

While his eyes lit up at the sight of the video, Keith couldn’t help observing that Veronica was doing too much. He was fine.

“You’re not fine. You’re – someone _shot_ you.” Veronica’s eyes glistened with tears as she took in her father’s anxious expression. “I get to make a fuss.” She became steely. “And then I get to find out who did this and hurt them.”

Keith sobered instantly. “Veronica I don’t want you investigating this.” His expression was severe, his tone harsh, he sounded almost angry.

“Dad, I have to. Lamb’s not going to do anything; he’s not even doing a superficial investigation.”

“I mean it Veronica, I want you to stay away from this; do you hear me?”

“But why?” Veronica couldn’t help feeling that Keith knew more than he was saying and she shifted away from him, feelings of betrayal coursing through her.

For a moment, Keith didn’t say anything, he just looked at her. Finally he gritted out:

“Because I don’t want you to end up in here, okay?”

Veronica melted. “Dad, I’m not –“

Keith exploded. “That’s enough, Veronica. I’m not discussing this anymore.”

And the hurt was back. Veronica stared at her father as though she couldn’t recognize him. Keith instantly looked chagrined, but it was too late.

“I-“

“Veronica.”

“I should let you get your rest,” Veronica muttered, fleeing the room, fleeing him.

“Veronica –“

“I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay?”

She couldn’t leave the room fast enough. She crumpled as soon as she reached the corridor, the tears she’d been trying to keep back coursing down her face. She told herself it was just because she was tired, but she didn’t believe it.

She stumbled down the hall, barely aware of her surroundings before turning the corner and colliding with an all-too solid body. A familiar body.

“Logan?”

Logan had steadied her instinctively, almost without looking, and now that he did look at her, his expression grew concerned. “Veronica, what’s wrong? Is it Keith?”

“I-“ She couldn’t tell him what had happened. She couldn’t. Instead she buried her face in his chest, allowing the warmth of his arms to steady her the way they had the night before. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” he murmured soothingly, running his fingers through her hair. “You’re okay.”

When she’d recovered enough of her equilibrium to risk speech, she looked up at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Logan looked sheepish. “I just, I was trying to see if I could check on him. I thought you might still be asleep after last night, and I wanted to be able to give you good news when I came to visit you.”

“It’s still family only.”

“So I’ve been told.” He looked at her in concern, “Veronica, are you okay? You look –“

Veronica shrugged, but didn’t meet his eye. “I’m fine. I just, I haven’t slept yet. It’s made me a touch more emotional than usual.”

“Veronica.”

“Did I tell you I got a visit from Madison Sinclair? She’s being harassed, and lucky me, I got the short straw and get to find out who did it. Although on the plus side I did get more information to torture Sheriff Lamb with, which is always fun.”

“Sounds like a laugh a minute.”

“Oh yeah, just me and that barrel of monkeys.”

He grinned, that adorable grin, and she let herself relax again. 

“Well, I had a terribly invigorating time myself. I got home at six in the morning, slept like a rock for four hours when I was rudely awakened by Enbom, who proceeded to spend the following three hours freaking out because his dad’s car was broken into when he was borrowing it and the world was basically ending.”

“His car? What happened?”

“Someone removed the steering wheel. I mean seriously, who steals a steering wheel? I didn’t even know they came off.”

Veronica’s eyes widened. “I’ve gotta go.” She started to leave, but then turned back. “Logan, I wanted to tell you, about last night, what you did.”

Logan’s expression closed down briefly, and this time he was the one who wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“You mean, when you thought I was attacking your father?” He was trying for playful, she could tell, but she couldn’t help noting that it came out more bitter than anything.

Veronica flushed. “I didn’t.”

He frowned. “I heard you, Veronica.”

“I didn’t know what was going on,” she exclaimed, half in desperation, half in annoyance. The tears that had apparently been biding their time started pricking at the corner of her eyes again.

Logan studied her and grew abashed. “Yeah, I know,” he said, shrugging off his accusation. “Just forget it. I guess I’m still tired too.” He grinned at her, but she could tell it was still bothering him, underneath. She bit her lip. 

“Logan, I wanted to thank you. For what you did. If you hadn’t-“

He looked alarmed as tears started to slip down her cheeks. “Hey, hey, forget it, all right? I’m just glad he’s okay.”

Veronica nodded, furiously scrubbing her cheeks with the back of her hand, awkwardly apologizing for her outburst. “It’s been a long day, is all.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“I will, but I have a stop to make first.”

* * *

“So why’d you do it?”

The brunette whirled guiltily, her eyes wide with shock. “How did you…”

“Oh, your mom let me in. I think she said something about snacks too. But back to my question. Why?”

Mac clenched her jaw as she took in Veronica’s casual pose.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t? You’re telling me I have to do the thing where I explain your evil deeds to you? Not that I don’t like monologueing, but, have you seen The Incredibles? It only leads to badness.”

Mac remained impassive, only the slight sheen in her blue eyes indicating that she had even heard Veronica.

Veronica continued, moving forward to perch on the edge of Mac’s bed. “So, the way I see it, it went something like this: Madison Sinclair finds out you two were switched at birth and doesn’t deal too well with the information. So like a good Heather, she spearheads a campaign of persecution, substituting your connection with Beaver for her actual reasons. Her quest is made much easier by your parents’ insistence on a summer job, and, having to deal with Madison and her cronies day after day, you naturally snap and begin a counter attack. You use your computer know-how to hack into Madison’s accounts, and take advantage of your dad’s position at Funtime Motors to gain access to their vehicles. You knew where Madison was going to be Friday night thanks to the handy dandy cell phone interceptor that I retrieved for you. How am I doing?”

Mac was silent, and Veronica softened. “Look, Mac, I get it, I really do. God knows, I’ve done a few things to the 09er enclave from time to time. Probably more than I should have, really, but this is serious. If Madison goes to the cops – and the only reason she hasn’t is because she and Lamb are on the outs – they could destroy you.” Veronica chose her next words carefully. “I… I understand the need for revenge. But it’s not worth messing up your life.”

Mac choked on a laugh. “You think I’m doing this because Madison is a bitch? I went to school with her for 12 years; I know she’s a bitch.”

“Okay, then enlighten me. Why are you doing it?”

Veronica wasn’t sure Mac was going to answer, but then the other girl seemed to reach a decision and she turned suddenly to Veronica.

“Cassidy’s gone. I know he wasn’t – that maybe the guy I thought I knew never really existed but… He’s _gone_ and all they care about is that it doesn’t affect their perfect lives. He…” Mac looked like she was trying hard not to cry and Veronica felt sick. “He was supposed to be one of them. They were his _friends_ \- and now it’s like he never existed. I’m not sure he ever did to them. And maybe…” There was no stopping her tears at this point. “Maybe if any of them had ever noticed anything but themselves, he wouldn’t have…” Mac’s fingers plucked anxiously at her bedspread.

“Oh, Mac,” Veronica whispered, pulling the other girl into fierce hug, wincing as she felt Mac’s sobs.

They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, although it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before Mac’s mother was knocking on the door offering snacks, looking worried by the obvious signs of tears.

When she’d gone, Veronica turned back to Mac.

“You know you can’t keep doing it, right? It won’t help, in the long run.” Veronica paused. “I thought it helped, but I think it only made me more bitter, more closed off, and...” she trailed off, helpless to complete a thought she wasn’t sure she fully understood.

Mac nodded dejectedly, clearly emotionally drained.

“No, you’re right. It didn’t – but I can’t face them every day, Veronica, and be quiet about it. About them.”

“So quit your job. You don’t need the money and maybe having that fight with your parents would be worth the change. Or if you aren’t going to quit, maybe you should stick to smaller stuff, like say, spitting in their food. I mean, there’s a reason it’s a classic.”

Mac grinned, briefly the cheerful girl she’d been before that night at the Neptune Grand, and Veronica’s heart ached.

“So,” Mac mumbled, “what are you going to tell Madison?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something.”

* * *

“What do you mean I wasn’t being harassed?”

Veronica rolled her eyes with exaggerated patience, before explaining her story carefully as one might to a four year old. 

“You weren’t being harassed. Those letters? I had them traced; they were from a random spam generator. And there have been a series of similar acts of vandalism recently, I think John Enbom was one of the victims? Same MO. I’d chalk it all up to coincidence. Don’t worry: no culprit, no charge.”

A curious change came over Madison’s face. Despite her obvious relief, she looked almost hurt for a second, and Veronica wondered if she’d secretly enjoyed the idea of being the center of someone’s universe, even in a negative way.

“So, I don’t have to worry anymore?” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on a spot on Veronica’s desk.

Maybe Madison had brought it on herself – maybe she didn’t deserve reassurance – but in that moment, Veronica didn’t care.

“No, you don’t have to worry.”

* * *

Stepping out of her father’s hospital room, now finally open to friends as well as family, Veronica practically bumped into the approaching figure.

“Veronica, how is he?”

Veronica smiled automatically at Mrs. Fennel. She wasn’t sure she’d ever really be comfortable around the woman, but she was Wallace’s mom and Keith – well, maybe he needed her.

“I think he’s better, Mrs. Fennel. He’s bored, though. He’s been talking about coming home already – Doctor Stevens had to threaten to sit on him. He’ll be glad to see you. Maybe you can convince him that the nice people with the medical licenses know what they’re talking about.”

Alicia smiled. They would never be friends, but the two were effortlessly civil.

“I’ll do my best,” she affirmed, before nodding at the girl and stepping into the room.

Keith smiled at the sight of her, and even though things hadn’t been normal between them since the fall, she couldn’t help smiling back.

“Hey, you.”

”Hey,” he beamed at her, that enormous enchanting grin that was so utterly disarming.

Suddenly remembering the flowers in her hand, she looked around for a flat surface to put them on, while Keith told her both that they were beautiful and that she shouldn’t have bothered. 

“I hear you’re causing trouble around here,” she said playfully, edging over to his bedside and setting them carefully beside an offering of sunflowers.

“I have to stay young somehow,” he said breezily. “You look good, Alicia.”

“Well, I don’t have a bullet in my shoulder, so I’m at an advantage.”

He laughed, but before he could respond, his cell phone rang. He frowned apologetically at her as he moved to pick it up. Once on the phone however, his expression sobered immediately, and he began talking in such a low voice that she could only catch the occasional word. Determined not to eavesdrop, she studied the cards on Keith’s other flowers, and missed the end of the phone call. The next thing she knew Keith was trying to get out of his hospital bed.

She protested, but he shot her a look that chilled her to the core.

“I have to go,” he said. “Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you positively must discover what happens next, the whole story may be found over at [the host LiveJournal community](http://vm-summer.livejournal.com/1371.html) as long as it is not deleted. It will also be posted here, one chapter a day until it is complete.


	4. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica and Logan attend a 09er costume party where jewels go missing. Keith's past returns to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [mutinousmuse](http://mutinousmuse.livejournal.com/).  
> Her notes: _Huge thanks to ladydisdain225, sarah_p and jaggedreality for the beta job, as well as to shizam23, kantayra, herowlness and truemyth for their help and suggestions._

“Honey, I’m home!”

Veronica looked up, eyebrows drawing together as the door to Mars Investigations swung open to reveal her father. She jumped up to help him remove his coat, careful not to jostle his injured shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be lying in a tiny metal bed sipping mashed peas through a straw?” Veronica hung Keith’s jacket on the coat rack and watched as he shuffled into his office and lowered himself gingerly into the chair behind his desk.

“What can I say? You’ve inherited some fabulous genetics,” Keith replied. “Can’t keep a Mars down for long!”

“Not that I’m not thrilled to see you out and about, but I told you I could handle things around here for a few days,” Veronica said, worry creeping in at the edge of her voice.

“I know you did, honey, but I got a couple of calls this morning, and I need you to take care of one of them.” Keith popped open the laptop on his desk and motioned for Veronica to come closer. He opened his e-mail and clicked on a new message from someone named John Sharpe. “You don’t have any plans tonight, do you?”

“That depends,” Veronica said. “Does knocking over a liquor store so I can get ‘I Heart Dad’ tattooed on my bicep count as having plans?”

“You can do that after the party,” Keith said, clicking open a file. “Here we go.”

Veronica quirked an eyebrow. “Party?” She looked over her father’s shoulder to see the face of a young, blonde woman. The name Colleen Sharpe appeared beneath it.

“This woman’s husband, John Sharpe, has hired us to find out whether or not she’s been cheating on him,” Keith said. “Tonight, they’re both going to be at a birthday party hosted by Christopher St. John for his recently acquired wife, Lydia, and you’re going to be there to make sure Ms. Sharpe gets a special party favor.” Keith turned the computer towards her so she could scroll down the screen.

Veronica scanned over the case file. “You needed to check out of the hospital to show me this?”

“I needed to check out of the hospital because I have a meeting at the Camelot tonight,” Keith said. “Which is why you’re on party duty.”

“You have a meeting at the Camelot?” Veronica gave her father a speculative look. “Is this about the Kendall case?”

“I told you, Veronica,” he said, voice hardening. “That case has been taken care of.”

Veronica exhaled sharply, but refrained from pushing the issue. “I actually do have plans with Logan tonight.”

“Logan’s going with you,” Keith said. “He’ll need to get you in. I’m sure he’s been invited. Christopher St. John and Aaron Echolls were golfing buddies.”

“Great,” Veronica sighed. “I’m sure Logan will be thrilled to get reacquainted with such a good friend of the family.” She straightened and turned to go.

“Oh, and Veronica? One more thing.” Keith grinned. “Don’t forget your costume.”

* * *

Veronica yanked at the back of her skirt for the seventh time in the last three minutes as she and Logan approached the front door of the St. Johns’ mansion.

“You look fine,” Logan said, idly twisting one of the myriad safety pins on his shredded t-shirt. “Just be grateful that you’re not the one who has cow skin practically spray-painted across their ass.”

“At least your ass is _covered_!” Veronica yanked at the back of her white mini-skirt yet again. Giving up, she attempted to pull her leather jacket down further in the hopes that it would cover what the skirt would not.

Adopting a rather mediocre British accent, Logan grabbed both of her hands and wheedled, “If I asked you to kill me, would you?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “That’s my line. And the person I’m going to kill is my dad!”

“It’s not his fault the only matching costumes they had left were Sid and Nancy,” Logan said. “Besides…” He paused and let his eyes sweep across Veronica’s short skirt, tight shirt, and knee-high leather boots. “It’s not all downsides.”

Veronica tried very hard to appear annoyed, but the strips of Logan’s skin peeking out beneath the shredded image of a British flag stretched tight across his chest proved somewhat distracting. Logan made a good Sid Vicious.

“I thought you liked that movie,” he continued.

“No, you liked that movie. I thought it was insipid.”

“Blasphemy!” he snorted. “How can you possibly call _Sid and Nancy_ insipid?”

Veronica smirked up at him. “You know, I was so bored once that I fucked a dog.”

“Okay, _that_ was _definitely_ my line.” Logan’s face wrinkled in disgust. “What would Back-up think if he heard you talking like that?”

Veronica simply shook her head, and leaned forward to ring the doorbell. The heavy oak door swung open almost immediately to reveal a petite blonde woman decked out as a French maid. 

“Hi,” Logan said. “We’re here for Lydia St. John’s birthday party.” He proffered the invitation that he had indeed received several weeks earlier.

The woman laughed. “Logan, it’s me!” Lydia tossed her hair back over her shoulder and simpered up at him. “Isn’t it a riot, me answering the door like this?” 

Logan stared at her. “Three laughs a minute,” he deadpanned.

Lydia prattled on as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Of course, it meant I couldn’t wear the _gorgeous_ diamond necklace that Chris bought for me for my birthday, but I couldn’t very well dress up like the help and wear _that_!” She paused for a breath, and turned her gaze to Veronica. 

“This must be that girlfriend of yours,” she said. Taking in Veronica’s heavily streaked eye make-up and wildly teased hair with an arched eyebrow, she added, “Nice costume.”

Veronica fought down a blush and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m – ”

“Veronica Mars,” Lydia finished for her. “I know exactly who you are.” Her handshake felt like a dead fish, and Veronica pulled away quickly.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, suppressing a shudder.

“Well, come in,” the woman said, flouncing inward towards the party. “Dinner’s in half an hour.” Logan and Veronica followed her, but she skittered away as the doorbell rang again.

“The sooner I can plant the bug, the happier I’ll be,” Veronica said. 

“Hey, we had a deal,” Logan replied, snagging two glasses of champagne from a waiter’s tray. “I get you into this hoity-toity gig, and we stay long enough for me to get well and truly sloshed off of the fancy free booze.”

“Like you need free booze,” Veronica replied.

“It’s the principle of the thing.” He handed her a glass, and then clinked his against it. “Cheers!”

Veronica took a small sip, while Logan downed his in a single swig.

“Careful,” she said. “I don’t want to have to hold your hair back while you puke later.” 

“I think it’s safe to say that my hair wouldn’t move if a piano fell on top of it,” Logan said, gingerly poking at his painfully punk rock coiffure. His eyes narrowed and he gestured across the room at a group of people chatting near the stairs. “There she is.”

Veronica followed the direction of his gaze. A blonde woman who barely looked sixteen years old was wrapped around the arm of a Clooney-esque man in his late forties. She was dressed as Little Miss Muffet, complete with a shepherding staff and fluffy pantaloons. Her companion was dressed in all black, and a black mask obscured his eyes. Silver spiders decorated the mask. They were talking to a tall woman with dark brown hair who looked like she’d walked straight off the set of _Moulin Rouge_ , all red satin and feathers and petticoats.

“Who _is_ that?” Veronica asked.

“That’s her – Colleen Sharpe. She looks even younger than the last time I saw her,” he mused.

“No, the other woman.”

Distaste colored Logan’s features, and he spat out a single word as though it tasted horrendous: “Tallulah.”

“Seriously?”

Logan nodded. “Tallulah Godfrey. She was an… acquaintance of my father’s.”

The way Logan hesitated over the word ‘acquaintance’ made Veronica wonder precisely in what capacity the two had been acquainted, but given his reticence on all topics Aaron Echolls as of late, she was reluctant to pry any further. She let the thought go, and a wry smile twisted her lips. “I suppose you’d better introduce me,” she said.

Logan sighed. “I suppose I’d better.” He lifted his elbow, and Veronica took it. “Once more unto the breach and all that.”

As they approached the staircase, Logan grabbed another glass of champagne, draining it quickly. Veronica’s smile faltered a bit, but she said nothing. All things considered, her relationship with Logan had been hovering somewhere near normalcy lately, and the last thing she wanted to do was pick a fight over his drinking. _His rather excessive drinking._ She shoved the concern into a distant recess of her mind and concentrated on shaping her features into a mask of politeness.

The ornately dressed brunette turned towards them and smiled warmly, but Veronica noted that her eyes roved over them with the look of a boxer sizing up an opponent, instantly filing away details. For a fleeting moment she wondered if she often looked like that, but the thought was dashed by Logan’s introduction.

“Tallulah,” he said, the word winding its way past clenched teeth. “What a nice surprise to see you in town.”

“I’m sure,” the woman responded dryly, and then her expression softened for a moment. “I was so sorry to hear about your father.”

Logan’s eyes flashed. “Weren’t we all.”

Veronica cleared her throat, and Logan twisted his face back into a smile. “Tallulah, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Veronica Mars.”

Tallulah’s eyes washed over Veronica. “I’ve read about you. You’re the smart one.”

Veronica blinked back surprise. “Is that what they’re calling me these days?”

“Among other things,” Tallulah said, but her voice lacked malice.

“Pity,” Veronica said. “I thought The Whore of Babylon had such a nice ring to it.”

Tallulah laughed. “Easy come, easy go. At any rate, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

Veronica found herself smiling. “Nice to meet you as well,” she said, shaking the woman’s hand.

Tallulah smiled back. “Veronica, Logan, I’d like you to meet John and Colleen Sharpe. They’re old friends of mine.”

John nodded towards them and his wife gave a giggling curtsy. “Not that old,” she said, running her hand down her husband’s arm.

Tallulah’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “Indeed.” 

Colleen turned to John. “Darling, get me another drink?” Veronica watched in bemusement as the woman literally fluttered her eyelashes at her husband.

“Of course, Pussy,” he said.

Logan snorted, and then converted the sound into an elaborate cough. Sharpe waved down a waiter, and Logan took the opportunity to trade in his suddenly empty glass for a full one.

“Still thirsty?” Veronica asked.

Logan looked at her. “Always.”

A beeping sound interrupted the exchange, and Tallulah reached into her handbag and extracted a cell phone. She glanced at the front of the call screen. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take this.”

As Tallulah walked briskly towards the front door, phone snapping open, Veronica turned away from Logan and towards Colleen. 

“I just love your costume,” Veronica effused. “Wherever did you find it?”

* * *

Keith pushed back the throbbing sensation in his shoulder and focused carefully on turning the steering wheel as he rounded the corner. It had been nearly ten years since he’d last seen Frank Romano, and even longer than that since they’d met out of anything other than necessity.

He blinked, and his mind wandered back to one of his first memories of the man who had been his closest friend and mentor throughout the time he’d lived in Fresno.

_Frank leaned over with a grin as his wife Felicity and her friend Lianne stood up to go find a bathroom._

_“I told you she’s great,” Frank said._

_“Yeah, she is,” Keith responded, taking a contemplative bite of his hot dog._

_“She’s funny,” Frank added. “Like you.”_

_“Yeah, she’s that, too.” Keith looked down at the field, and grinned. “Terrence Cook’s up to bat.”_

_The two men leaned forward as Cook walked up to the plate. The young player had begun to make a name for himself as one of the few pitchers in the league who could both pitch and hit. The first pitch whizzed past Cook, and the umpire called a strike. Keith booed, and Frank hollered in the general direction of the plate._

_“That was low!” Frank shouted, full of the confidence that all sports fans carry that their shouts will be heard and heeded by the man in the black and white polyester. He shook his head. “Asshole.”_

_Cook swung at the second pitch and missed. The second strike appeared on the scoreboard, and Frank groaned._

_“Come on, come on,” Keith chanted as the pitcher wound up for a third throw._

_The crack of the bat connecting with the ball resounded throughout the stadium, and both men flew to their feet. The ball came sailing towards them, and Frank leapt to catch it. It sailed over his head and clunked down several rows behind them, where a ten-year-old boy dove to collect it._

_Keith cheered as Cook trotted around the bases, smiling and waving to the crowd. Frank punched him lightly in the shoulder._

_“Hey, I’ll give you a dollar if you beat up that kid and get me that baseball,” he said, and then took another sip of his beer._

_“Two dollars, and no paperwork for a week,” Keith countered._

_“No deal!” Frank said. “You’re the new kid on the force, you do the paperwork. It’s in the Bible, I think. Or at least your contract.”_

_“I guess you’ll have to do your dirty work yourself, then” Keith said, still waving his hot dog in the air as Cook headed for home plate._

_Frank sighed dramatically. “So what else is new?”_

_Felicity and Lianne returned, armed with popcorn and more beer._

_“Did we miss anything?” Lianne asked, sliding in next to Keith._

_“Frank tried to pay me off again,” Keith said._

_“Honey, haven’t we talked about bribery before dinner?” Felicity asked, and then kissed her husband on the cheek._

_“I had a hot dog,” Frank said. “That counts.”_

_“Cook hit a home run, too,” Keith continued._

_“Woooooooooo!” Lianne cheered, and then offered Keith another beer._

_“Thanks,” he said, and wrapped his free arm around her shoulder._

_“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling. Keith grinned back at her._

The sound of a car honking behind him shattered Keith’s reverie. He looked up to see that the stoplight had turned green, and drove forward. The Camelot sign loomed overhead, and with a wince, he maneuvered the car into the parking lot. He pulled into a space in front of room number four, and his eyes narrowed. The door was wide open, and the room was dark inside.

He got out of the car cautiously and approached the room. 

“Frank?” he called. “Frank!”

Silence answered him. He nudged open the door, and peered inside. Flipping on the light, he froze. The door slammed shut behind him. 

“Frank?”

* * *

A shriek cut through the dining room as Lydia ran down the stairs. “Christopher,” she wailed. “ _Christopher!_ ”

Conversation throughout the large room ground to a halt as the host stood in alarm.

“Lydia – what’s wrong?”

Tears streaming down her face, Lydia clung to her husband’s arm. “It’s gone,” she cried.

“What’s gone?”

Lydia took a shuddering breath, and let out another loud sob. “The diamond necklace you gave me for my birthday,” she cried. “It’s gone!”

Three tables away, Veronica’s head dropped into her hands. So far, she’d been unable to corner a surprisingly evasive Little Miss Muffet long enough to plant the bug, and had instead been subjected to an hour and a half of meaningless ‘09er prattle as Logan got drunker and drunker. The only human there who’d seemed likely to offer anything even remotely approaching intelligent conversation was Tallulah, but instead she’d gotten stuck with the Bennetts, who apparently employed Sean’s father and wanted to get Veronica’s expert opinion on precisely why the youngest Friedrick had been making quite so many trips down to Mexico, and what he might be bringing back with him into their fine, upstanding home. 

Veronica looked up again, chin propped up on her fist, and watched as Lydia wailed and moaned while Christopher attempted to console her.

“It must have been someone here,” Lydia said. “It was there right before the party – I almost wore it tonight!”

“You must have set it down somewhere, then,” Christopher said. “I’m sure no one here would have taken it.”

Lydia’s gaze swept across the room, lingering over Logan and Veronica’s table before moving onward. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “Not everyone here was invited.”

Veronica’s eyebrows drew together, and she poked Logan in the shoulder. “This is bad,” she said.

Logan, who had been watching the exchange with the amusement of a professional spectator, rolled his head towards her. His muscles were loosened by five glasses of champagne, and his voice was slightly slurred. “You know who I think took it?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Veronica murmured, voice low. “I need to get this thing planted, and then we need to get out of here.”

“I think Tallulah took it,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken.

“That’s ridiculous,” Veronica said. “She has money practically dripping off of her. Why would she do that?”

“Because she can,” Logan said. “Because that’s the kind of person she is. A lying, thieving bitch.”

“Stop it!” Veronica said, somewhat taken aback. “She’s the only person here who’s been even remotely nice to me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Logan picked up his fork and stabbed clumsily at his steak.

“I think you just don’t like her because she was friends with your father,” Veronica said.

Logan gaped at her. “Isn’t that what the layman might call _an extremely valid reason_?”

“Whatever.” Veronica tugged at her skirt in annoyance. “Where the hell is Colleen Sharpe?”

“You’re the private dick,” Logan said sharply, waving down another drink-bearer. “You tell me.”

* * *

Keith sat on the edge of the cheap hotel bed. A file of papers was in his hands, and a dead body lay at his feet. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, and he wiped at it absently as he stared down at the file. Page after page of numbers jumped out at him, all of it somehow connected to the name on the file: Lianne Mars. The information swam meaninglessly before him, and his heart raced in his chest.

He stood abruptly and swayed, his movements awkward. Pain shot out from his shoulder and he stumbled forward, tripping, stumbling over the body and into the bathroom. The file fell to the floor and he twisted the handles of the sink. Water blasted out, and he splashed it over his skin. He looked up, and a face stared out at him from the mirror: old, tired, haggard. He blinked, and the face blinked back. 

Keith turned off the water and dried his hands. Carefully, he wiped down the sink area, erasing any traces of his presence in the bathroom. He returned the towel to the rack, smoothing its surface, and then knelt to retrieve the file. He went back through the bedroom, meticulously straightening the thin comforter on the bed. He opened the door and then wiped off the inside doorknob with the corner of his jacket. The pain in his shoulder had receded again to a dull ache, and he stepped outside. Popping open the trunk of his car, he pulled up the bottom and placed the file on top of his spare tire. He then closed the trunk and pulled out his cell phone. His hands were steady as he dialed three numbers and hit send.

A tinny voice echoed through the earpiece; Keith’s voice was calm as he spoke.

“I’d like to report a homicide.”

* * *

Veronica and Logan sat at their table near the staircase. Veronica’s arms were crossed, and Logan was tapping a fork rapidly against the edge of his plate, creating a steady clinking noise. Lydia was in the process of interrogating each table of guests, while Logan continued to point out that the only person who had mysteriously gone missing was Tallulah.

“This is ridiculous,” Veronica said. “The fact that she may have exhibited poor taste in company in the past doesn’t make her a felon!”

“What’s ridiculous is that you won’t consider the possibility that someone you’ve known for two hours could be a criminal just because she laughed at your crappy joke.”

Veronica’s eyes widened. “My _crappy joke_? Wow, Logan, keep up the sweet talk and you might even get to second base tonight.”

“I didn’t mean – ” Logan set the fork down. “Forget it. I suppose I should leave the thinking up to the expert. Consider me off the case, Nancy Drew.” 

He stood and began to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Veronica called after him.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go powder my nose.”

Veronica bit back a final retort as he stalked off. She shut her eyes and concentrated on breathing, counting slowly up to 100 and back down again. She wasn’t sure which was worse: her uncomfortable costume, her failed bug-planting assignment, her taciturn boyfriend, or her tight-lipped, recently shot father who was off investigating god knows what without her. Yes, on a scale of one to ten, this evening was shaping up to be a resounding zero.

Confident that things could go no other way but up, she opened her eyes. And immediately wished she’d kept them closed.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Lydia St. John loomed over Veronica, hands planted squarely on her lipo-sucked hips. “You stole my necklace.”

Veronica blinked. “You can’t be serious.”

“Who else in here would want it?” Lydia snapped. “Or rather, need it.”

Veronica stood, nearly toppling her glass of sparkling cider. “That’s absurd. I’ve been in this room the entire time. Unless your necklace was buried under my filet mignon, there’s no way I could have stolen it.”

“How do I know you haven’t left the room?” Lydia whipped her phone out of her purse. “I’m calling the police.”

Veronica looked desperately around the room for Logan, and fought down a sigh of relief as he strolled casually back into the dining room, thumbs hooked carelessly through his leather belt loops. When he saw the look on her face, his pace quickened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sparing a glance at Lydia as she spoke quietly into the phone.

“Stepford Wife the Third is calling Lamb to inform him that I’ve stolen her diamond necklace.” Veronica’s voice shook with anger as she forced out the words.

Logan blinked. Expression still grave, he leaned over and placed his lips next to her ear. “I just can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

Veronica’s pallor whitened a shade, and she exhaled sharply. “Logan, this isn’t funny!”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it’s at least a little funny.”

“You are such an ass!” she spat out.

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched upwards. “Does this mean we get to have angry make-up sex later? Cause I’m a big fan of the angry make-up sex.”

Before Veronica could respond, Lydia snapped her phone shut with a smug grin. By this time, her husband Christopher and several guests had noticed the commotion and circled around Veronica and Logan.

“The police will be here any minute,” she announced. “At which point this… _unfortunate interloper_ will be arrested, and my necklace returned.”

Logan rolled his eyes and grabbed Veronica’s purse, unceremoniously dumping it out on the table. 

“What are you doing?” Veronica squeaked, praying to several gods simultaneously that the false bottom wouldn’t give out and reveal the bugged pen concealed beneath.

“Proving your innocence?” Logan scattered the contents of her purse – lipstick, a compact mirror, a thin wallet and a cell phone – across the tablecloth. “See? No necklace.” He turned to Christopher. “You can call off your attack poodle now.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Lydia replied. “She could have thrown the necklace in the trash and planned to come back tomorrow to dig it out. She could have hidden it anywhere.”

“Leave it to you to jump straight to the gold-digging scenario.” Veronica smiled, and Lydia flushed bright red. 

“You little – ” 

Christopher placed a hand on her arm, and she sputtered into silence.

“Lydia, is this really necessary?” he asked. “I’m sure the young Mr. Echolls wouldn’t bring a girl into our home who would steal from us.” He paused, eyebrows drawing together. “And actually, dear, I did see Pedro, the new pool boy, coming out of our bedroom the other day. He said he’d gotten lost looking for the bathroom because the one in the guesthouse was out of order. I thought it seemed odd at the time – perhaps he stole the necklace several days ago and you simply haven’t noticed.”

Lydia paled, and her lips thinned. “I assure you, _dear_ , that had the necklace gone missing on Thursday, I would have noticed. I told you, I almost wore it tonight.” She turned to Logan. “And as for the integrity of our young Mr. Echolls, need I remind you who his father was?”

“His father was acquitted, Lydia.” Christopher’s expression darkened. “And he was a good friend of the family before his tragic death.”

“This is insane,” Logan said. “If Veronica wanted a diamond necklace, I’d buy her a diamond necklace. Why don’t you call Pablo or Pedro or whoever the hell cleans the gutters on that Olympic-sized monstrosity out back and leave Veronica alone?”

Lydia took a step towards him. “How _does_ it feel, Logan, to spend your dead Daddy’s money on the slut who tried to seduce him from under your nose?” 

Logan’s fingers twitched, and Veronica wrapped her hand around his wrist.

“Logan. Let’s go.” Veronica tugged at his arm, but Logan refused to move.

Lydia continued. “I hope you make her keep her eyes open when you’re in bed together so she remembers which Echolls it is she’s – ”

“That’s enough!” Christopher barked. “ _I_ will wait here for the Sheriff, and _you_ will go upstairs and bring me the number for the pool boy!”

Lydia whirled to face him. “I’m not going anywhere until this piece of trash gives me back my necklace.”

A voice from the back of the room cut through the conversation. “This necklace?”

As a mass, the St. Johns, Logan and Veronica swiveled to face the figure on the staircase. The voice belonged to Tallulah, who was standing halfway down the stairs, index finger extended with a strand of diamonds dangling below it.

Lydia choked for a moment, and her husband snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and shoved it at her unceremoniously. 

“How in the world did you find it?” he asked.

“I accidentally took the second door on the left instead of the third when I was looking for the bathroom,” the woman said. “I saw it lying on the dresser in the guest bedroom.”

“That’s wonderful,” Christopher said. “Lydia, isn’t that wonderful?”

Lydia said nothing, knuckles turning white as she gripped the champagne glass.

The woman reached over the railing and handed the necklace down to Christopher, and then moved down the staircase. Veronica noted that she was carrying two purses.

“I found the necklace trailing halfway out of this handbag,” she said, holding up the smaller of the two. 

“May I?” Veronica asked, reaching for the bag. 

“Give me that!” Lydia snapped, batting at Veronica’s hand. “This is my house, and I demand you give that to me right this instant!”

At the word ‘demand’ Tallulah’s forehead wrinkled in disdain. She gave Lydia a cool look and then relinquished the bag to Veronica.

“Whoever took it probably has ID inside,” Veronica said, and unzipped the bag all the way. She reached into the purse and extracted a passport. Eyes widening, she turned the picture towards Christopher.

Lydia’s smiling face beamed out from the pages of the passport. Two plane tickets were tucked in the bottom of the bag, and Veronica pulled those out as well. They were one-way tickets to Brazil – one for Lydia, and one for a Pedro Gonzalez, who had apparently been plumbing the depths of all sorts of gutters in the St. John household.

“Chris, darling, this isn’t what it looks like.” Lydia grabbed his arm, but he shook her off. 

“Don’t touch me,” he said, his voice low and shaking.

At that moment, Deputy Sacks strode into the room, trailed by two other officers. “Ms. St. John?”

Her husband stepped forward, and his wife followed, barraging her husband with a stream of pleas and excuses. “Deputy, my name is Christopher St. John.” He took a breath, and continued. “I’d like to file a report.”

“That poor man,” Veronica said, turning to Logan. He nodded, looking slightly ill. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll just tell my Dad that the job was a bust.”

She grabbed her purse and turned to leave. 

“Wait,” Logan said, voice suddenly somber. “Look, I’m sorry.”

“Logan, it’s fine,” Veronica said. “Let’s just go.”

“I screwed up your thing,” he said, all traces of alcohol gone from his speech.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Veronica said. “It’s not your fault. Your job was just to get me in, which you did.”

She looked across the room to where Tallulah and the Sharpes were putting on their coats and preparing to leave. “Besides, it’s too late anyway.”

Logan followed her line of vision. “Give me your purse,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Veronica handed him her purse, and then raised an eyebrow as he handily popped open the false bottom and removed the bugged pen.

“How did you –”

Logan cut her off with a wink and an almost British-sounding, “Now that’s a secret, love.” He stuck the pen in the back pocket of his leather pants and then strode across the room to the Sharpes’ table.

Veronica watched in grudging admiration as he gave Tallulah a perfunctory hug and then shook hands with John Sharpe. He then reached into his back pocket with his right hand and leaned in to hug Colleen. He extracted the pen smoothly, and his right arm snaked around her waist to deposit the pen neatly into her handbag. He pulled away and lingered, schmoozing for a moment longer before turning to saunter back towards Veronica. The Sharpes and Tallulah bid their final farewells, and then made their way to the front door.

Veronica grinned at Logan as he returned.

“Not bad,” she said. “Maybe you should have worn the Nancy costume.”

“What, and miss out on watching you flash every guy in the room?”

Veronica looked momentarily scandalized, and Logan grinned and pulled her against him. He nuzzled the spot where her shoulder joined her neck, and goose bumps erupted along the length of Veronica’s spine.

“Does this mean we get to have that make-up sex now?” he whispered, the words sliding across her skin as his lips moved.

“How about some make-up necking?” she replied, arms latching themselves around his waist.

“Works for me,” Logan said, and then pulled back to kiss her.

Veronica closed her eyes as his lips met hers, relaxing into the kiss. Logan pressed against her more tightly, and she let her hands drift downward to brush over the leather covering his backside.

She swept her tongue against his, and then froze. The sound of Lamb’s voice crackled through Sacks’ radio several feet away. Police codes spewed out, followed by a location: The Camelot. A body had been discovered at the Camelot.

“Veronica, what’s wrong?”

“We have to go,” she said, pulling away from him. “Now.”

* * *

“Turn here,” Veronica said.

Logan sighed. “Veronica. I’ve _been_ to the Camelot.”

“Sorry.” She brushed her hair behind her ears, the memory of the last time she had seen Logan at this particular hotel flitting through her mind. She smiled. “I know you’ve been to the Camelot.”

Logan turned into the parking lot, streaks of blue and red light illuminating his face. He opened his mouth to respond, but Veronica cut him off.

“That’s Dad!”

Logan’s heart constricted in his chest. The image of Keith’s body lying on the floor of a Camelot hotel room assaulted him for the three seconds it took him to realize that there was no way Veronica could see any dead bodies from her current vantage point. Instead, she was pointing at her father’s car as it turned out of the Camelot parking lot and pulled onto the road.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s… odd.” He pulled into a space and put the car in park.

“It is,” Veronica agreed.

“Do you still want to check it out?” Logan asked. The words ‘now that we know it’s not your dad’ remained unspoken.

Veronica paused for a moment, and then unhooked her seat belt. “I do.”

They climbed out of the car and headed in the general direction of the flashing lights. Several police cars were parked haphazardly around a room on the ground floor, and yellow tape cordoned off a door marked with the number four. A bored-looking hotel worker stood off to the side, answering questions from Sheriff Lamb and several deputies. The door to the hotel room stood unguarded – another testament to Lamb’s eternal ineptitude.

Pulling Logan in the opposite direction of Lamb’s undoubtedly elegant and astute interrogation of the front desk clerk, Veronica skirted behind a police car and slipped under the yellow tape, Logan in tow. 

“Remind me again why we’re committing a felony?” he asked, trying hard to sound cavalier.

“Felony?” Veronica nudged the door to room number four open with the toe of her shoe.

“Oh, you know, tampering with the evidence of a crime scene?” Logan responded. “Which seems like exactly the sort of crime Lamb _would_ bother pursuing these days.”

“I don’t know,” Veronica said. “It would probably require him moving, or at least writing something down, so I think we’re safe.” 

“I think he’d make an exception for us,” Logan replied.

Veronica said nothing, but pulled the sleeve of her sweater down over her hand to flip on the light.

The slack, pale face of a man in his late fifties stared up at them from the floor. A rivulet of crusted blood traced it way from the worn carpet up to the small, circular cavity in the center of his forehead.

“Oh my god.” Veronica staggered back against the wall. 

“Come on,” Logan said, face pale. “You don’t need to see this.” He gently tugged at Veronica’s elbow, but she shook him off.

“You don’t understand,” Veronica said. “Logan, _I know him._ ”

Images of the body on the floor danced before her, but the body was walking, talking, and looked about ten years younger. It leaned over her, brandishing a stuffed teddy bear as she hid behind her mother’s legs.

_“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Lianne said, laughing. “She’s never this shy.”_

_Keith ruffled her hair, and she shrank back further. “Sweetie, it’s okay. This is a good friend of mine.”_

_Veronica stuck her head around her mother’s leg cautiously, and the man knelt down next to her; he was younger, less jowly, and his was forehead devoid of unnecessary holes._

_“My name’s Frank.” He proffered the bear once more and Veronica accepted it, inspecting it closely. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, awkwardly formal in his approach._

_Veronica retreated behind Lianne’s legs again._

_“Sweetie, don’t be rude to your father’s guest,” her mother scolded. Veronica turned and ran._

_“Veronica,” a voice called after her. “Veronica.”_

“Veronica!” Logan shook her arm gently, and she blinked. “Are you okay?”

She swallowed. “That man’s name is Frank Romano.” She looked at Logan. “He was Dad’s partner back when he worked for the Fresno Sheriff’s Department.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter will go up tomorrow! I've also added a character index of original characters who show up in one or more chapter.


	5. In Pursuit of Pussy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica cracks the mystery the Sharpes marriage, but can't seem to get her own relationship with Logan in line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Queen_haQ and [jaggedreality](http://jaggedreality.livejournal.com/)

Veronica sat at her desk in Mars Investigations, listening to the deafening tick of the clock. With each passing hour, the strain between the two members of the Mars family was inching closer to the breaking point. Three days. It had been three days since the body of Frank Romano was found inside of that dingy room at the Camelot. She shuddered as she remembered the lifeless eyes of the man, long-forgotten, staring into nothingness.  
  
The two occupants of the office were so quiet that the constant hum of the refrigerator sounded more like a buzz saw. The water dripping in the sink was akin to hail on a tin roof. Walking over to the source of the noise, she inspected the faucet and made a mental note to stop by and pick up a washer so she could fix it. Glancing down at the dirty dishes, she noticed water had combined with some ketchup to form a small pool that reminded her of Frank’s blood.  
  
_After they’d walked in and found Frank’s body, blood forming in a large pool around his head, Veronica had frozen in place, unable to make her legs move. Logan, fortunately, had the presence of mind to wrap a hand around her arm and drag her out of the room before she could shake free of her trance and begin examining the scene. They made it to the other side of the tape before Lamb or one of his deputies found them inside of the room.  
  
Standing inert, she gazed off in the direction that her father had driven. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that Keith Mars had fled the scene of a crime. She knew without hesitation that her father had not committed the act but she also knew without a doubt that he had been in the room, and had been the one to call the police.  
  
What she didn’t know or understand was how her father could just leave the scene of his friend’s murder. Why he would need to take off? Was Frank somehow connected to the odd behavior Keith had been displaying recently? Had he remained at the Camelot long enough to give a statement to the police, or had he run out before being seen? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers.  
  
Grabbing Logan’s arm, she steered them back to the XTerra. Once inside, she pulled out her phone and dialed her father’s number. Keith answered her call after a few rings.  
  
“Hey honey, how was the party? Did you get the bug planted on Mrs. Sharpe?”  
  
“The bug is in place,” she answered quietly, choosing not to rehash the evening’s events at the moment.  
  
“Good. That’s good.”  
  
“So, what are you doing?” she inquired.  
  
“I’m at the office trying to wrap up some paperwork,” he answered smoothly.  
  
Veronica’s eyes filled with tears and her heart felt like a weight in her chest as her father blatantly lied to her. Clearing her throat, she told him that she was going to Logan’s to watch a movie, and would probably just crash on his couch. Expecting her dad to be upset at the thought of her spending the night with her boyfriend, she was devastated when he instead wished her a good night, relief evident in his voice when he heard she would not be coming home.  
  
Hanging up, she turned to Logan, who was eyeing her with concern. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask if it was okay if I came over. I couldn’t think of anything else to say to him.”  
  
“Veron -_ ”  
  
“Veronica!” Keith’s yell pulled her from her reverie. “Can you bring me the Collins’ file?”  
  
Moving away from the sink, she grabbed the file, walked into Keith’s office and set it on the desk. Without saying a word she started to walk away, but stopped herself. It was now or never.  
  
“Have you heard anything else about Frank’s death?” she asked, watching his face closely for some kind of tell.  
  
“Lamb thinks it was probably a jealous husband,” Keith said with a shrug, looking down at the papers. “Frank wasn’t exactly known for being very bright when it came to the ladies. I imagine he picked up some woman, took her back to the motel, and the woman’s husband didn’t take too kindly to it.”  
  
Veronica was taken aback at her father’s casual dismissal of his former partner’s death. Skeptical that a jealous husband had been behind the murder - it was way too professional - she pressed harder. “Since when do you agree with Lamb? Your ex-partner suddenly appears in town and ends up murdered, and you think it’s just a coincidence?”  
  
Keith let out a loud sigh, clearly feeling put-upon. “Veronica, not everything is a vast conspiracy or has some elaborate scheme behind it. Sometimes good people make foolish mistakes, and as a result, bad things happen to them.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Veronica, I said drop it,” Keith snapped. “There’s nothing going on.”  
  
“Fine,” she replied sullenly. She was getting tired of her father avoiding her questions. She walked back to the outer office but his voice stopped her before she was out of the room.  
  
“I haven’t had time yet to do much on the Colleen Sharpe case and her husband wants an update soon. Would you have time to follow her for a day or two? Try to get the money shot?”  
  
Veronica turned and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll follow Pussy tomorrow.”  
  
“Come again?” he smirked. “Have you been watching the _Sopranos_ on marathon again? I thought we discussed the whole talking like gangsters thing.”  
  
Veronica rolled her eyes before answering. Enunciating clearly as if speaking to a small child, she replied. “Colleen Sharpe _is_ Pussy. It’s her husband’s nickname for her.”  
  
“Who calls their wife Pussy?”  
  
“Considering all the Buffys and Muffys, Pussy fits right in. No one ever said the rich were normal,” she countered with a shake of her head. “I need to get going. I’m due at the Hut in an hour.”  
  
“Have fun,” he offered in a placating manner.  
  
Veronica nodded and left the room without answering.  
  
“Oh Veronica,” Keith called again. When she looked at him he asked, “Are you going out with Logan after work?”  
  
“I don’t know. I’ll call if I won’t be home. After all, I wouldn’t want you to worry about my whereabouts,” she snarked.  
  
She knew it was petty, but she felt a certain amount of satisfaction when she noticed Keith clench his jaw in annoyance. Nevertheless, that satisfaction was quickly replaced with guilt over antagonizing the man who had raised her.  
  
“I’ll be home but it’ll probably be late,” she reassured him with a strained smile. He nodded slightly at her and she returned to the reception area. Picking up her bag, she turned, and with one last glance at her father hunched over his desk, left without another word.  
  


* * *

  
  
Veronica stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. She was already running late for work as it was, and when her cell phone started ringing, she couldn’t help but be annoyed. The feeling didn’t last long as she realized who was calling; no one else she knew would insist on choosing _‘Drop It Like It’s Hot’_ as their signature ring tone.  
  
“You lucky boy. I’m just about to drop my towel like it’s hot,” Veronica teased. Even though Wallace had been at Hearst Basketball Camp for only a short time, she already missed him. At least this time around she knew his whereabouts and he _did_ return her calls… occasionally.  
  
“V, I thought we already had the talk about you ruining my hot blonde fantasies. First the bathroom, and now phone sex. What _am_ I gonna do with you?”  
  
“Do you really want me to answer that?”  
  
Wallace laughed. “So, what’s going on? Whose chops are you busting this week?”  
  
“I’ve been too busy to indulge in any chopping.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be talking to Logan about that?” Wallace joked, entertained by the innuendo.  
  
“No point. He’s far too amused with the prospect of me following Pussy.”  
  
“Pussy, huh? Starting the wild college thing early, V?”  
  
Ignoring his comment, she changed the topic. “Basketball keeping you busy, Mr. Hot Shot? I called you like twice last week.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. You’re almost verging on psycho ex-girlfriend territory.”  
  
“I don’t like this ‘almost’ business; it’s so half-assed,” she quipped. “Tell me you have a bunny I can cook, and I’ll rectify that situation.”  
  
“Ew and ew,” Wallace commented, and Veronica could _picture_ the half-smile on his face. “What’s up? Why have you been harassing me?”  
  
“What electives are you taking next year? I was hoping we could take a class together.”  
  
“I thought the whole college experience was about making _new_ friends. You’ve gotta expand your horizons, Veronica.”  
  
“Hey, I’m not giving you up that easily,” she retorted, half-mocking, half-sincere. “So, spill! What classes are you registering for?”  
  
“No clue,” Wallace replied. “It’s summer! Don’t you have anything better to obsess about? We have months before we have to think about that stuff.”  
  
“It must be the water in Neptune that makes you guys so lazy,” she muttered, remembering the similar discussion she had with Logan.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Never mind.”  
  
“I gotta go.”  
  
“Plans with your groupies?”  
  
“Hell yeah!”  
  
She chuckled. “Just remember: no glove, no love.”  
  
“Don’t you worry, Veronica. My momma didn’t raise no fool.”  
  
A few seconds after she hung up, she was still smiling. Some days it seemed that Wallace was as comforting as a tub of cookie dough ice cream.  
  


* * *

  
  
Veronica raised her camera to snap pictures of Colleen Sharpe as she entered yet another office building. After three days of following the woman, Veronica was bored to death. How many office buildings could one woman, who didn’t work, possibly visit?  
  
At first, she suspected the woman might be seeking out a divorce lawyer, but it was evident from all the shopping and expensive possessions that she enjoyed the money that came with being Mrs. John Sharpe. It seemed when Pussy wasn’t visiting random professional buildings around Neptune, she was shopping, at the gym, or at the spa.  
  
Veronica thought it must be nice to have enough money to keep busy doing absolutely nothing all day, every day. She suspected that she would quickly grow bored with that kind of lifestyle. Maybe she’d ask Logan how he managed it.  
  
After ten minutes of waiting in her car, Veronica was getting restless and needed to stretch. Deciding Pussy would probably be at least another half hour, Veronica went into the latest building to see if she could figure out who her quarry was going to visit.  
  
Veronica had been disappointed over the last few days to discover that Colleen wasn’t using the same purse that she’d had at the party. Most likely, Colleen had an inordinate amount of purses, and unlike most women, she must not have switched the contents of one to another, rendering the bug Logan had planted useless.  
  
Perusing the building directory, Veronica didn’t find any office that stood out as a possible destination for a trophy wife. From what she could tell, most of the occupants were doctors and dentists. Having witnessed the woman’s already perfect smile first-hand, Veronica was fairly certain she wasn’t visiting one of the dentists. As she had done in the last few buildings, she pulled a pad of paper from her bag and added a few of the doctors’ names to a rapidly growing list so she could look them up later.  
  
Glancing at her watch, Veronica realized more time had passed than she thought. She turned around, intending to go back to her car, when she collided with someone else.  
  
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Veronica apologized as she bent down and picked up the other woman’s fallen purse. Handing it to the woman, she was startled when she looked up into the child-like features of none other than Colleen Sharpe.  
  
The young woman frowned momentarily before clearing her face and offering a phony smile to Veronica. “Oh hello. It’s nice to see you again, Miss-”  
  
“Mars. Veronica Mars,” she reminded Pussy. Mentally slapping herself, Veronica reminded herself that the woman’s name was Colleen. _Colleen_ should not be that difficult of a name to remember.  
  
“Oh yes. I’m sorry, I’m just terrible with names,” she giggled. “John is always teasing me about not being able to remember things.”  
  
Veronica gave her what she hoped was a convincing smile. “That’s okay. I’m terrible with names, too,” she lied. Working as a detective the last few years had fine-tuned Veronica’s memory, a fact for which her boyfriend was not usually thankful.  
  
“So, who are you here to see?”  
  
Thinking fast, Veronica picked the first name that she could remember from the directory. “I had an appointment with Dr. Peete.”  
  
“Oh, he’s good. He did Suzie Enbom’s implants a few years ago. You can hardly tell they aren’t real. I’m sure he’ll do a great job on yours.”  
  
Veronica was well aware that she was flat-chested, but she didn’t need some blonde bimbo, trophy wife suggesting she get implants. However, knowing she had to go along with her given excuse, she smiled tightly and answered through clenched teeth. “I’m just here for a consultation. Nothing definite yet.”  
  
“Oh, I understand. I’m sure your boyfriend will absolutely love them. We do what we must to keep our men happy,” she continued innocently.  
  
If her grin got any tighter, Veronica feared her face would stick in that position. Before she was forced to say anything more, Colleen looked down at her watch, which Veronica thought could probably pay her tuition at Hearst for a few years, and announced she had to leave. Blowing air kisses as she ran out the door, she left Veronica standing rooted to her spot.  
  
Looking down at her chest, Veronica briefly wondered what she would look like with implants. Logan had certainly never complained about her breast size; he actually seemed quite pleased any time he got to see them. Shaking her head at her own musings, she headed for the same door Pussy - _Colleen_ \- had breezed through moments before.  
  
She might do a lot of things to try and make Logan happy but there was no way in hell she would ever get implants for a guy. Unless, of course, the guy was someone drop-dead gorgeous like Jensen Ackles, in which case, she might reconsider.  
  


* * *

  
  
Veronica sat in the LeBaron outside Neptune’s hottest new restaurant, _Jaded_. Logan had asked to take her there for dinner, but she had refused. Everyone already thought she was a gold digger - she had no need to further their suspicions. He had been offended and huffed that he might just go by himself. She had tried to reason with him, explaining that fancy restaurants weren’t her thing, but he’d been in a snit and refused to listen.  
  
Normally Veronica wouldn’t follow Colleen on the evenings she was with her husband, but there was something about the couple’s behavior that felt off. She had no real reason to follow them other than sheer curiosity and a gut feeling. Having met her a few times now, Veronica couldn’t imagine Colleen cheating on her husband. Maybe if she saw them interact, though, she’d have a better idea of what made Colleen’s husband think otherwise. Plans for any covert ops to get inside of the restaurant were rendered unnecessary when Colleen arrived with the same purse she had at the party, allowing Veronica to listen in on the couple’s conversation.  
  
So far, things were a bust. There had mostly been idle talk about John’s day and gossip about the St. John’s party the previous week. Mr. St. John had already filed for divorce and kicked Lydia to the curb. She had tried to check into the Neptune Grand only to find her credit cards had been canceled. The soon-to-be ex-Mrs. St. John was now residing at the Camelot Motel. Her lover, Pedro, had been anonymously reported as an illegal immigrant to the INS a few days after the party and had already been deported.  
  
By 10 p.m., Veronica was ready to give up on learning anything new about the Sharpes. The only thing she had found out thus far was the result of a few men stopping by to say hello to Colleen and John. From the conversation, she ascertained that they were plastic surgeons. It had taken Veronica a few minutes, but she eventually recognized one of their names from the lobby directory of one of the office buildings Colleen had visited when she followed her, and Veronica realized the woman must be planning to have work done by multiple doctors.  
  
Realizing that there was probably no affair, Veronica was about to start her car and leave when she saw Logan walk out of the restaurant. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she noticed the brunette attached to his arm. Before her imagination could go too far, an older man walked out of the restaurant, and the woman turned to him with a bright smile. Kissing Logan lightly on the cheek, she walked over to the other man, who wrapped an arm around her. As the valet appeared with Logan’s XTerra, a few more words and a handshake were exchanged before her boyfriend drove away.  
  
Once Logan was gone, Veronica snapped a few pictures of the couple and their car. With the close-up provided by the zoom lens of her camera, she identified the couple as a director friend of Lynn Echolls’ and his wife. She had met them briefly at Aaron’s funeral, but hadn’t realized Logan kept in touch with them.  
  
With a shrug, Veronica once again prepared to start her car. Before she could turn the key in the ignition, the conversation still coming through the bug stopped her cold.  
  
“So what did you do today?” John had asked suddenly, his manner more challenging than curious.  
  
Veronica thought it was a little strange that the man waited until dinner was almost over to ask his wife about her day. Most people would have asked much earlier.  
  
Pussy laughed lightly. “Oh just the usual; visiting the spa, shopping.”  
  
“Are you sure -”  
  
“Excuse me,” the waiter interrupted. “Can I interest you in anything else? We have a lovely selection of desserts.”  
  
Veronica couldn’t be sure but she could have sworn that Pussy started to say something when her husband interrupted.  
  
“I’ll have a piece of the fudge cake and some coffee but my wife will skip dessert. She doesn’t need anything fattening,” John instructed the waiter.  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
It was silent for a moment. “John I -”  
  
“What have I told you about sugar, Pussy? Indulging in it will only lead to weight gain, especially with your sweet tooth. You wouldn’t want to get fat would you?”  
  
“No John, of course not.”  
  
“Have you been going to the gym and sticking to your diet? You look like you’ve gained a few pounds and your eyes look like they’re starting to wrinkle. You need to be taking better care of yourself.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Veronica heard Pussy apologize. “I wasn’t feeling well last week and skipped a few workouts.”  
  
“I would hate to see you let yourself go. I thought we already discussed the consequences of that,” he stated, his tone menacing.  
  
“I know. I’m so sorry. I swear I won’t let it happen again,” she continued, attempting to placate him.  
  
After a few more minutes of listening to John continue to subtly berate his wife and Colleen’s constant apologies, Veronica tuned out the conversation. She couldn’t believe that a man who acted so attentive and loving towards his wife at the party a week ago was being such an asshole now. How anyone could consider the young woman fat or old was beyond her comprehension. She may have been in her early twenties, but she didn’t look a day over sixteen, and there wasn’t _anything_ on that body that jiggled.  
  
Finally, the couple finished dinner and left the restaurant. Veronica watched them stand sedately, with John’s hand clamped tightly around his wife’s wrist like a manacle. When the car arrived, John didn’t lead so much as jerk his wife towards it.  
  
Veronica normally considered herself a good judge of character. Her skeptical side left her a little too jaded at times but the Sharpes certainly had fooled her. She bought the enamored couple act they displayed at the party just like everyone else. The dinner conversation she had just listened in on had wholly snatched away that illusion, though.  
  
Too disgusted to listen to any more, Veronica turned off the listening device and started the car. She felt the urge to go home and shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the crawling sensation that overtook her flesh, a feeling of such unease that she’d only felt it a few times before.  
  


* * *

  
  
There was definitely something to be said about the spacious backseat of an XTerra. Sure, the color of Logan’s SUV was bright enough that even a blind man could spot it – from a mile away, at night, while being distracted by fifteen nearly-naked strippers – but at least it was comfortable; that was more than she could say for her LeBaron.  
  
Currently, she was on top of Logan and straddling him – her favorite position. And, from the deep vibrations currently coming from his throat, probably his as well. As usual, her hands were curved around his neck while his…well, his were _everywhere_. One moment, they were circling her waist and the next, his fingers were trailing up her spine, working their way beneath the thin layers of her clothing. When it came to undressing her, he was _definitely_ dedicated to the cause.  
  
Of course, as soon as his lips met hers, she stopped thinking altogether.  
  
It was like it always was. Rushed and frenzied. His mouth – God, his fucking mouth – she didn’t know how one kiss could make her feel like this. How it turned her insides into liquid and made her cling to him as if he was the only thing that could save her.  
  
Logan maneuvered her closer, if that was even possible, and she felt exactly how excited he was. Wiggling on his lap, and relishing the near-feral growls she inspired, she shoved him playfully, knowing he would clutch her even tighter.  
  
It worked.  
  
Her back was now against a door. He was fighting the laws of physics, or so it seemed, to get closer to her while she pulled at him to do the same.  
  
Pushing and pulling. It seemed that was the one constant in their relationship.  
  
“Fuck,” he muttered breathlessly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Did you have to wear so many fucking layers? You’re dressed like we’re in the middle of the Arctic.”  
  
“We’re not? No Eskimo kisses?” She mocked playfully, batting her eyelashes at him before she rubbed her nose against his.  
  
He smirked. His clever fingers raced down her chest, and he unbuttoned her over-shirt within a span of seconds.  
  
She bit back her smile, seeing the eager look on his face, which resembled a kid in a candy store. Of course, when the grin on his face soon turned cocky, probably because he was proud he’d gotten through one layer so soon, she decided to show him who, exactly, was the boss.  
  
This time when she shoved him, it was more aggressive than playful. He fell back, pulling her with him, but she swiftly gained control. She looked down at him with a mischievous smile.  
  
“That hurt,” he whined, rubbing the spot she’d exerted pressure on.  
  
“Good.” Leaning down, her mouth latched onto his, and their game began all over again: the fight for control, the push to see who would drive the other one crazier.  
  
Eventually, despite her not-so-best efforts, she ended up underneath him, panting for air, her fingers digging into his back as he sucked on the sensitive spot on her neck.  
  
With her eyes closed, her body wrapped around his, she felt him remove her t-shirt. When her eyelids fluttered open, she found him staring down at her breasts in near-worshipful contemplation.  
  
The only time he was ever speechless around her was when she was naked in front of him. She was happy to note her breasts, small or not, always seemed to have that effect on him. “I’m not getting any younger.”  
  
He snapped out of his stupor and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “But you’ll always be perky.”  
  
Before she could fire back a clever retort, his fingers brushed across her nipples. She bit her lip, holding in both her words and her gasp of pleasure as she arched against him, and he continued his tender assault.  
  
Logan was very proficient when it came to ensuring she couldn’t keep a coherent thought in her head. Just when she was about to regain a semblance of control, despite his fingers continuously roving across her, he changed his pattern. Now his tongue joined the game, lavishing attention on her breasts, rendering her unable to think once again.  
  
As he trailed wet kisses down her body, she held onto him with one hand, her fingers laced through his. It was when he was poised above her waist, his eyes glazed with desire, that he met her gaze. It was _that_ look that always thrilled her. Scared her. Made her feel like she was falling into an abyss with only him to hold onto.  
  
His mouth was open, stark desire reflected on his face. With expert fingers, he started to unbuckle her belt with his free hand.  
  
And _that’s_ when she froze. Images and sounds of Cassidy unbuckling _his_ belt, one of many she’d conjured up over the last few weeks and had tried to bury into the recesses of her brain, were threatening to spill over, causing bile to rise in her throat.  
  
Logan must have sensed the immediate tension in her body, because he stopped and looked at her, concern creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
He didn’t look convinced. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”  
  
When she didn’t respond, he moved closer to her, cradling her face in his hands.  
  
“Plotting evil schemes to take me down? Maybe,” he gave her a mischievous look. “You’re contemplating a surprising, below the belt move?”  
  
A small smile formed across her face. “Telling you about it would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“Don’t tell me stalking Pussy is making you have second thoughts about the male sex,” he quipped, kissing the tip of her nose. “Sucking takes a lot more work than blowing, you know.”  
  
“Ha!” Even to her own ears, her response sounded weak. “No, it’s not Pussy.”  
  
He waited for her to elaborate on why she was holding back, but she wasn’t in the mood for a long talk. Knowing Logan, he wouldn’t be happy with a half-assed excuse, and the last thing she wanted to do was discuss Cassidy.  
  
As it became obvious to him that there was going to be no explanation offered, Logan appeared more and more frustrated. Eventually, he sat up and she began to dress herself. She felt him examining her every move, but refused to look at him.  
  
“Talk to me, Veronica.”  
  
“It’s late. I have to work early tomorrow.”  
  
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, he leaned in closer. “It’s about -”  
  
“Don’t.” Her voice was cold.  
  
“And here I thought -”  
  
“That’s your problem. You shouldn’t think.”  
  
“So you prefer a man of action, then? I could impregnate a soon-to-be comatose goody-two shoes, kidnap her baby, and disappear. Would that work?”  
  
Finally meeting his gaze, she responded in a frosty tone. “Take me home, Logan.”  
  
She moved quickly into the passenger seat, Logan following her to the front of the car. As they drove home, the air was thick with tension. He occasionally glanced at her while she stared straight ahead, emotionless. He was pissed off, that much was obvious, since he was driving too fast. At one point he even started swearing at the car in front of them because they dared to slow down for a changing light, but she still didn’t feel the need to placate him. Especially when it involved baring her soul and bringing up memories she’d just as soon forget. There was exposing yourself, and then there was _exposing yourself_.  
  


* * *

  
  
After following her for a few days, Veronica knew Colleen’s schedule like the back of her hand. It was a quarter after noon, and Colleen would be having lunch at _Vague_. Shuddering at the thought of eating nothing but raw vegetables every single day like Colleen did, Veronica made her way towards the table.  
  
She was about to break the cardinal rule of being a PI. If her father found out what she was about to do, he’d be extremely upset, but she didn’t care. Her conscience was a more difficult thing to deal with than a lecture from Keith Mars.  
  
Colleen was about to bite into something that looked like a miniature thorn when Veronica stood in front of her, suppressing a shudder. “Hey, Colleen.”  
  
The other woman looked up at her with surprise, but soon, recognition set in. “Victoria, how are you?”  
  
“I’m sure she’s great, but I’m actually Veronica.”  
  
“Wow, I’m so sorry. You know I’m horrible with names.”  
  
“That’s okay. Do you mind if I join you, Colleen? I was supposed to meet a friend here, but she ditched me.”  
  
“Not at all. But please, call me Pussy. Everyone else does.”  
  
Veronica took a seat across from her and soon, the waiter came by to give her a menu. Glancing at the prices, she decided water was the only option in her price range.  
  
“Oh, what diet are you on? South Beach? Zone? Cabbage and apple?”  
  
“I prefer lettuce and orange,” Veronica quipped.  
  
“I haven’t heard of that one. Is it working?”  
  
“It doesn’t show?” Veronica mocked disappointment. “And the guidebook said people would be astounded by the change.”  
  
“It takes some time,” Colleen assured sincerely. “But it’s worth it in the end. I’m sure your boyfriend will love the new you.”  
  
Considering she hadn’t seen or heard from him since their fight, Veronica seriously doubted that. Pushing thoughts of Logan aside, Veronica focused her attention back on Colleen, who was rattling on about a Dr. Dickinson.  
  
“John just loves Dr. D’s work. Says he’s one of the best plastic surgeons in the country. You should definitely try to make an appointment with him.”  
  
“I don’t think I can afford Dr. D.”  
  
“Oh.” Colleen looked genuinely upset, as if not having money was the worst tragedy she could imagine. “Sometimes I forget how lucky I am. John… he’s so good to me. He gives me everything I could ever want.”  
  
Yeah, he was definitely a prince, Veronica mused bitterly.  
  
“Do people call you Ronnie?”  
  
“Sometimes. And then I kill them after.”  
  
“You don’t like it?” Colleen asked, surprised. “John says names ending with an ‘e’ sound are much more feminine. It’s why he likes to call me Pussy. He says guys love it.”  
  
“So _that’s_ why Tom’s chasing after Katie,” Veronica joked. “You and John? Have you two been together for a long time?”  
  
“Yes. Our anniversary is coming up in a few months, so I’m getting something really special done for him.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, I’ve been going to all these doctors because I want to look exactly like I did the day John met me.”  
  
And now it all made sense - the reason Colleen was visiting so many doctors all at once.  
  
“I want it to be a surprise for John. I’m going to tell him I need to visit a friend for few days and then get everything done.”  
  
Seeing Colleen’s enthusiasm about the whole matter made Veronica realize exactly how much control John had over his wife. “Colleen, you’re beautiful. You must know that.”  
  
For the first time, Veronica saw a hint of sadness in Colleen’s smile.  
  
“But I look older than when John met me. He says it’s not fair to him if I let myself go because I’m changing from the person he fell in love with.”  
  
“Do you ever wish your life was different?” So it wasn’t the smoothest of segues but she seriously doubted Colleen would even notice. “I’m going to college in the fall, but sometimes I think I shouldn’t even bother going to school and just get married. Life would be so much more fun.”  
  
“I don’t regret marrying John. He was exactly what I needed at that time in my life.”  
  
It was then Veronica realized nothing she could say would ever make Colleen realize what an ass her husband was, not when she saw John as her savior. Colleen truly believed her husband loved her, and she’d convinced herself everything he did was out of that love. She lived in a bubble, and Veronica didn’t think it was her place to rip Colleen out of it.  
  
“But marriage isn’t for everyone,” Colleen continued, oblivious to Veronica’s inner turmoil. “I think you should definitely do the college thing; you seem really smart.”  
  
“Well, this was great but I have to go now. I’m working in an hour.” Veronica stood up and reached into her bag to pull out a card. “Colleen, if you need anything, like you want to go to the movies, or maybe… I don’t know. You want to talk or whatever, call me. You can reach me anytime at that number.” Smirking, she rolled her eyes. “I have no life.”  
  
Colleen smiled, taking the card from Veronica’s hands. “This was so much fun. We should definitely do it again.”  
  
As Veronica left the restaurant, she pondered Colleen’s life. Sure, Colleen lived in denial, but it was something Veronica could relate to. Sometimes a little denial was the only way a girl could get through day to day.  
  


* * *

  
  
Veronica was sitting behind her desk, organizing everything into a neat little pile, when John Sharpe, slick as oil, stepped through the door. Flashing a dazzling grin, he approached, and she quickly felt her anger rise. In the last two years she’d already dealt with her share of manipulative, disguised psychotic assholes; she really didn’t want to add one more person to that list.  
  
“Hello.”  
  
Oh, yeah, Colleen’s husband was definitely smooth. He clearly expected her to fawn over his good looks. Instead, she reciprocated with a tight smile, her temper flaring even more when she caught his eyes darting slightly to somewhere below her face, and then back up again. He was checking her out.  
  
“How are you?”  
  
“Peachy,” she answered in a frosty tone. “My _dad’s_ waiting inside for you.”  
  
Luckily, Keith opened the door to his office just then and greeted John with a warm smile. “Mr. Sharpe, you’re just in time. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”  
  
It pissed her off how civil her father was acting towards John, but Veronica supposed he couldn’t exactly be rude to a client. Especially a well-paying client.  
  
John turned down the offer for a drink and soon entered the inner office. Keith shut the door behind them.  
  
It didn’t escape her notice how often her dad closed that door nowadays. Of course, if one were to ask him, there was nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
Deciding to focus her attention on more useful things, she turned to her laptop. _Planet Zowie_ was always there, her useful and reliable search engine, and as she searched Rosa’s case, the site proved its dependability once again.  
  
As Weevil had correctly assumed, there were only a few articles about the kidnapping. She was reading through them when the door to Keith’s office opened suddenly and John stepped out. Unlike a few minutes ago, the look he greeted her with was not the least bit friendly. Without acknowledging her, he stormed out.  
  
“Guess that went well,” Veronica said sarcastically, looking up at Keith, who stood framed in the doorway.  
  
“He didn’t seem to think we did a good enough job following his wife around. He’s convinced Pus-”  
  
“Don’t say it!”  
  
Keith laughed. “ _Colleen_ is cheating on him. I told him there’s no proof of that.”  
  
“And to think she’s running around town trying to _be_ the perfect present for him.”  
  
“Rich people,” Keith sighed. “You can’t kill them -”  
  
“- and when _they_ kill people, you can’t put them away.”  
  
The smile on his face lessened a little, and Veronica felt a prick of guilt.  
  
“Well, I’m running late for an appointment. I’ll see you at home, honey?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Should I get some take-out for us tonight?”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Coming closer to her, he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “I love you.”  
  
Instinctively, she softened towards him. “Can you get that extra cheesy garlic bread I like?”  
  
“The really greasy one that pours out oil like it’s a leaking tank in the Middle East?”  
  
“That’s the one.” She smiled.  
  
“Of course. I was going to get that, anyway.”  
  
Veronica stared after Keith when he left, reflecting on how normal everything seemed between them at that moment. Then she remembered Frank and her father’s refusal to talk to her about his ex-partner, and her frustrations resurfaced.  
  
Shaking her thoughts of Keith away, she concentrated her attention back on her laptop. She still had a lot to learn about kidnapping statistics.  
  
A few minutes later, as she scanned through pages and pages of information, a sick feeling arose in the pit of her stomach. According to the Vanished Children's Alliance, every forty seconds another child went missing or was abducted. If that wasn’t frightening enough, the statistics also stated that less than a third of all the kidnapping cases were “stranger-kidnappings” compared to “family-kidnappings” and “acquaintance-kidnappings.”  
  
Continuing her research, she came across all the different types of kidnapping cases. There were the ransom cases, which were apparently almost non-existent now because of the FBI’s diligent stance towards kidnapping. There were the deprogramming kidnappings, a rare practice – well not so rare, since she remembered her own personal experience involving Casey – to convince someone to give up a set of beliefs that the deprogrammer considered harmful. There were child stealings, bride kidnappings… reading it all made her skin crawl.  
  
Unable to take any more, she went back to searching Rosa’s case again.  
As she skimmed through the article she found, she once again noted the similarities between Marisol and Rosa’s situations; they lived in the same neighborhood, and even were in the same grade in school at the time of their disappearances. To anyone else that would seem to be more than a coincidence, but to Lamb, unsurprisingly, it didn’t even register as a blip on his radar.  
  
Using Marisol’s name to search, Veronica turned up a few more hits – relatively speaking, of course. Chances were she'd get a hell of a lot more hits on her own name than she would on either Marisol's or Rosa's.  
  
The first few links were articles she’d already read, but there was something that stuck out further down the page. Apparently, Marisol wasn’t the only girl to go missing in 2003; there was also a Tracy Gonzalez who had lived a few miles away from the other two girls. Tracy’s smiling face looked back at Veronica across time, full of joy. It was a school picture, probably the last one Tracy would ever pose for, and sadness washed over Veronica all over again.  
  
The office phone rang just then, breaking her out of her reverie. Relieved to see that it was Keith calling, she answered. “Hey, Dad.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure the greasy garlic bread is killing the environment as we speak. It’s just sitting on the table, taunting me with its deliciousness.”  
  
“I’m just finishing up some stuff. I’ll be home in a few minutes.”  
  
She closed all the windows on her screen, deciding she’d done enough research for one night. Her mind was still reeling with the discovery of Tracy, and she needed time to process all of the new information.  
  
Picking up the Sharpe file Keith had left on her desk, Veronica sifted through the pictures she had taken of Colleen. Since the case was officially closed, she could delete all the pictures of Colleen from her hard drive. The last thing she needed were any more bitter reminders of her inability to help the other woman. While scrolling through the pictures, she came across the ones from when she’d followed Colleen to a mall. Unlike other people, Colleen didn’t shop for clothes at malls; she only stopped by to go to the health food store to pick up weight-loss supplements.  
  
Veronica was about to delete the last set of pictures when something in one of them caught her attention. She hadn’t noticed it before, because frankly, it was a blurry – and thus useless - shot of Colleen. The focus had been mis-set, making the background crisp, and leaving Colleen nothing but a blob of sad color. However, as Veronica stared at the picture now, she couldn’t believe it had escaped her attention.  
  
There, in the far corner of the shot, was a clear image of Lianne Mars.  
  



	6. Catch and Fetch 'Em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica attempts to track down her mother and reconnect with her father and Logan. As her personal life unspools, she uncovers a disturbing pattern among local child abductions.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains references to child abuse which may trigger some readers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter treads into darker territory than we have dealt with in this story before. So many people helped me with hand-holding and encouragement while I was writing this chapter. Thanks to kantayra, ladydisdain225, mutinousmuse, queen_haq, txtequilanights, and sarah_p. I’d also like to thank __tiana__, sarah_p, and lostt1 for their super beta help._

Veronica tried her best not to wake her one present parent, even as thoughts of her absent parent rattled through her mind like marbles in a tin can. Only two hours later than Keith had expected, she closed the front door, keeping an eye on her father’s sleeping form and noting the way his feet hung awkwardly over an armrest. They really needed a larger couch. She tip-toed past his empty plate – stained red with the best marinara sauce in Neptune – past the untouched paper bag spotted with greasy stains – the cheesy garlic bread, long gone cold – and kept her eyes on the prize: her bedroom door.

The clatter of canine nails on hardwood floors let her know that it wasn’t to be, and Veronica resigned herself to dropping to her knees and receiving a bit of uncomplicated, if sloppy, doggie-love. Back-Up whined when she refused to be bowled over by him, and Veronica resisted turning her head towards the subtle creaking of the sofa springs.

“Guess we need to get you a new watch, huh?”

Veronica exhaled slowly as she stood up and leaned against the island counter, facing the disapproving and bleary-eyed gaze of her father. “You know how it is, Pops. You start surfing the web, the porn pops up, and then where has the time gone?” She raised her shoulders in an approximation of a casual shrug, only to turn it into a deep roll of the joint at the narrowing of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time,” she amended.

Keith nodded as he collected his plate and brought it to the sink. “Look, Veronica, I know things have been a bit… strained between us the past couple weeks. But…” he sighed and met her gaze earnestly. “I do still worry about you, you know?”

Back-Up butted his head against her thigh in seeming agreement with Keith’s sentiment, and Veronica closed her eyes. In the dark red haze behind her eyelids, the image of her mother’s face swam into clarity. She was in Neptune, or had been mere days earlier. But she hadn’t made contact. Hadn’t tried to find, to talk with, to apologize to Veronica. Every time Veronica was tempted to think the best of Lianne Mars, she was disappointed. Keith had been there for her, always.

Until this summer.

Keith was still smiling sadly at her when she opened her eyes, and she couldn’t help but hold out an olive branch. Maybe, together, they could work this out.

“Were Mom and Frank close, back in Fresno?”

The lines of concern on Keith’s face smoothed to the hardness of marble. 

“I told you, I don’t want you looking into that case, Veronica. Is that why you’re late? You can’t leave it alone, can you? Damn it, you –”

“No, _Dad_. But I’m glad we had this little talk and we’re being so open and honest now.” Her sarcasm crackled in the air between them. “Now that we know there are no _secrets_ and we don’t have to be _worried_ about each other, I can go to sleep happy.”

Veronica stormed down the hallway and let her bedroom door fall shut was a satisfying thud. If her father said anything under the cover of her stomping boots, she didn’t want to know what it was. She’d rather hear nothing from him than have him tell her more lies.

She flopped on the bed and stared hard up at the ceiling, forcing her eyes to focus on the blank white nothing. She had nearly achieved a Zen-like state of blissful ignorance when her cell phone chirped from her pocket, and she had to gulp down a large chunk of air before she could even consider answering.

Logan’s name blinked at her from the caller ID display, and she had to practice her deep breathing again as she watched it go to voice mail. That was the second call tonight. They hadn’t spoken since the argument last night. How had her life gone to hell so quickly?

Veronica rolled to face the wall, bringing her knees up towards her chest and folding her arms against her body as she tried very hard to get to sleep.

* * *

When Veronica stumbled into the kitchen the next day, it was as if the morning paper had appeared on the doorstep with the permanent addition of two tightly clenched hands and a small, bald dome peeking over the top. At first, she focused on pulling a bowl from the shelf and shaking out a serving of Cheerios. Her words from last night still seemed to ring in the air with every _ping_ of cereal on ceramic as she turned to face him.

“Good morning,” she addressed the ‘Sports’ page.

Keith turned the page and shook the paper for a brief moment.

Veronica sighed and moved closer.

“I’m sorry,” she offered softly. “Look, the thing is, Dad, I was putting away the surveillance pictures of Pussy and I saw –”

Another picture leapt out at Veronica from the kitchen counter. She snatched up the ‘Neighborhood’ section of the paper and stared down at the face of a young, Hispanic girl.

“Saw what?”

> Starla Ayala, age eight.

“Veronica?”

> Disappeared from her front yard three days ago.

“Veronica!”

> Kidnapping suspected.

Keith grabbed her shoulders and gave them a slight shake. She blinked up at him.

“Veronica? Is everything alright?”

She summoned a warm smile and tried to focus on his face while her mind raced.

“Yep. Just peachy.”

* * *

He probably wouldn’t want to know anyway. He certainly wouldn’t want her investigating this. Not as a favor for someone in prison. Especially if it ended up being half as dangerous as she was beginning to think.

Veronica dug her bare feet into the sand, only keeping half an eye on Back-Up as he frolicked in the surf several yards in front of her. The cool weight of the sand grounded her to the earth while her mind was still churning. Beside her, the breeze whispered through the pages of newsprint, breathing false life into the photograph of Starla.

It was all just guess work now. There was no proof the disappearances were connected. Still… It was almost a pattern: two girls go missing from the barrio in 2003, and now two more in 2006. Their names echoed like the rush and gush of the surf in front of her: Marisol, Tracy, Rosa, and now Starla. Starla’s case was being treated as a kidnapping, not a runaway. And still, her story was buried three sections in. If Weevil hadn’t called her a few weeks ago, would she even know their names?

Veronica didn’t realize her hands had clenched into two tight fists until the cool sand welled through her fingers and oozed into five small piles on either side of her.

Suddenly, she was showered by small bullets of sea water as Back-Up dropped a bright orange frisbee at her feet and shook himself dry. She shielded her eyes with a chuckle, picking up the orange disk with a confused wrinkle of her brow.

“Your dog is a thief.” A pair of tan feet came to rest two feet from her eye line. Veronica’s gaze panned up a pair of toned legs, past a set of baggy swim-trunks in a bright neon green, and then quickly to a smiling face, looking down at her from beneath a shock of dark blond hair. “He nabbed the frisbee right out of the air in front of my dog,” he clarified.

Veronica shot a quick glance to see Back-Up under playful attack by a young Scottish Terrier. She grinned up at the stranger. “Sorry about that, but I think your dog is getting a bit of his own back now. Back-Up goes a little crazy for fetch sometimes.” She held up the toy and began packing her things when the guy took it from her.

“Say, don’t I know you?”

“Gee, I hope not.” Off the perplexed raising of his eyebrows, Veronica amended, “The things I’m known for –” she sucked a breath through her teeth, making a hissing sound, “– well, let’s just say doggie toy theft would be a step up.”

He chuckled, low and deep, as he held out his hand. “My name’s Mike. What’s yours?”

She tossed her name over her shoulder as she called Back-Up. It was time to stop moping and start doing some of that detective stuff she did so well.

“Come here often, Veronica?” There seemed to be a slight note of desperation in his voice.

“Yeah, we always score the best toys here. Easy marks.” She spared him a wink along with her wave as she began to trudge through the sand towards the LeBaron. “It was nice meeting –”

“Hey, do you want to get a cup of coffee sometime? Make it up to me and Mutt here, repent for your larcenous ways?”

It was as if a cold wave had broken over her. He was trying to pick her up and she hadn’t even glanced at him after the first look. Even now, while he stood there with a hopeful smile, golden skin glistening in the sun, she wasn’t moved to look at him as more than just some guy. She couldn’t help but compare him – unfavorably – to Logan.

He must have taken her hesitation for consideration because he took a step closer to her, only to be halted by Back-Up’s growl.

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Of course you are,” he sighed.

She left him at the edge of the sand and pulled her phone from her pocket the minute Back-Up was settled into the car.

“ _Logan here with today’s inspirational message: ‘To err is human, to forgive divine.’ – Alexander Pope._ ”

“Logan, we need to talk. I… about last night…” Veronica rolled her eyes as she searched for the words she wanted to say. “Look, I’ve got to run down a lead and then swing by the Suncoast Mall later, but I’d really like to meet up with you today. Give me a call?”

She snapped the cell closed and smirked ruefully at Back-Up’s unimpressed pant.

“Oh, like you could have done better?”

* * *

Veronica eased the LeBaron into a vacant spot two doors down from the Ayala house, only to raise an eyebrow as a Balboa County cruiser pulled out into the road. She caught a mustached silhouette glancing at the house before driving away. A follow up visit? Had there been a new development?

Starla’s aunt answered the door. Again, it was rather easy to gain access with the simple truth: she had been asked by Weevil to look into area kidnappings and had heard about their little girl. Before Veronica knew what was happening, she was ushered into a small-but-spotless living room and was shaking the hand of Mrs. Ayala.

“I was so sorry to read about Starla’s disappearance. I’ve been looking into –”

“She read about it in the paper, Elena. And you said talking to that reporter was a waste of time,” the aunt concluded smugly as she pulled her sister into a seat on the couch and patted her hand.

Elena Ayala turned her wide brown eyes on Veronica and closed them once in an uncertain blink. “I am not sure I understand. You are here from the newspaper?”

Again, Veronica opened her mouth only to have it filled with words from the older sister.

“No, no. She works for a private investigator and the Navarro boy asked her to look into this. She thinks this could have something to do with Rosa. Didn’t I _tell_ you?”

“Yes, Monica,” Elena nodded, her gaze fixed on the small candy dish in the center of the glass coffee table. She was blinking rapidly now, while her hands opened and clenched in her lap. Veronica began to look for a box of tissues as Monica continued to speak.

“You’re Veronica Mars?” Elena’s ragged voice was suddenly crisp. “The sheriff’s daughter?”

Veronica shifted under the steady stare and corrected, “Ex-sheriff. He’s a private investigator now and I work for him.” Monica was miraculously quiet as she watched her sister with concern, so Veronica took the chance to explain herself to the grieving mother.

“I’ve been looking into Rosa Ramirez’s disappearance and I’m starting to see some similarities to the cases of two other girls who went missing a few years ago. I know it might be hard to hear, but I think they might all be connected.” She held her breath and prayed that Elena wouldn’t fall apart.

“Dios mio. You think some _serial_ sicko snatched Starla?” Monica was calmer now as she digested the possible fate of her niece.

“I don’t know. But anything you can tell me about that day could help. I’m dedicated to finding out what happened. Have you noticed any strange cars in the neighborhood?”

Elena shook her head and began muttering, “nonono,” until it was nothing more than a low moan. Veronica focused on Monica, looking at her expectantly. She wrapped her arms around her sister and rocked her slowly as she responded.

“No, not that we noticed. The police asked the same thing.”

“Maybe a dark blue car?” Veronica suggested.

Elena hesitated and Veronica’s pen hovered over her paper. But then Elena shook her head and looked away without comment. Veronica shrugged.

“I saw the deputy leaving today. Is there a new lead?”

“What? No,” she scoffed. “Stupid pigs, this is the first time they came. It was only after they had pressure from the newspaper article.”

“You reported a missing child and it took them three days to respond?”

“Sí,” Starla’s mother exclaimed as she pushed away from her sister and eyed them both warily. “I did report it. Right away.”

Veronica spoke calmly to both women. “I didn’t mean to ask when you reported her disappearance. I’m just surprised they haven’t been to see you before now.”

Elena settled back, reassured. “I called the police as soon as I realized she was gone and they did _nothing_.”

“Like a girl from the barrio _means_ anything to El Exterminator,” Monica sniffed. “We are just bugs to him.”

“I know the feeling.”

Monica cast an appraising eye over Veronica and said nothing.

“So, Starla was playing outside that day?”

Elena nodded an affirmative and Monica elaborated. “She doesn’t go outside a lot, even though I always tell her she should play with the other children more. But no one else was out that day and she was just skipping rope in the front yard.”

“And then you looked out the window and she was gone?” Veronica addressed Elena who buried her face in the crook of her sister’s neck with a sob.

“About what time did you notice she was missing?”

“Two thirty,” Monica volunteered.

At the same time as Elena answered, “Tres.”

“No, no, dear, Veronica meant when you noticed Starla was gone.” Monica turned to Veronica and explained, “I came by at three and found Elena. She was hysterical. It took me almost an hour to get the story out of her.”

Veronica was making a note of the different times when a faint shadow fell across her pad. She looked over her shoulder and found herself looking into miniature versions of Elena’s sad eyes, set in the face of a young boy. She guessed he was about ten years old.

“Hello.” Veronica beamed a warm smile at him and let it grow wider as he shyly dropped her gaze.

“Are you going to help my sister?” He whispered to the back of the couch.

“Andre, no esté parado. Go and fetch our guest something to drink,” Elena watched the young boy hurry off to the kitchen with a quiet yelp and shuffle while she began to dry her face with a small handkerchief.

Before Andre managed to fill a tray with unmatched cups full of blueberry Kool-Aid, it became apparent that Veronica wasn’t going to learn much more than what had been included in the newspaper report. No one had seen a stranger lurking. No strange blue car. No one had seen little Starla grabbed. Again, Veronica found herself with a new name and face to haunt her dreams, and yet she seemed no closer to having any actual answers.

She hoped her other case would yield better results.

* * *

Veronica had pored over her surveillance logs of Colleen Sharpe the previous night until she was able to pinpoint the exact time and place of Lianne’s scene-stealing cameo. It was about all she _could_ do when none of the hotels in the area had a record of her mother checking in, since all of Lianne’s old credit cards seemed to be sitting dusty and unused on some shelf next to her mother-of-the-year trophy. Veronica pushed through the heavy metal door with ‘SECURITY’ emblazoned across it in thick red letters and tried to pretend that this wasn’t her last chance for a real lead.

She schooled her expression in an appropriately worried flavor of ditzy, ready to play the I-think-someone-stole-my-Mom’s-credit-card-but-I-can’t-tell-the-police-because-I-wasn’t-supposed-to-have-it card, only to lose all control of her gaping jaw when she saw who was monitoring the security feeds.

“Norris?”

His hair was a bit longer now, but there was no mistaking the ex-bully, all-things-ninja aficionado when he swiveled in his chair to face her.

“Veronica!” He jumped from his seat and quickly smoothed down his security guard uniform. “What are you doing here?”

Okay, she could be wrong, but there might actually be a bit of a blush climbing the sides of his cheeks. Maybe she could work with this.

“Oh, you know, dark, clinical rooms from which I can watch hundreds of my fellow men without their knowledge,” she raised one shoulder and dropped her head to meet it. “It’s a hobby.”

Norris forced a few chuckles as if he wasn’t fully sure she was joking. “Um, you know, you’re not… that is… This area isn’t supposed to be open to the general public.”

“Okay, you got me. Damn.” She snapped her fingers in mock consternation and stepped a bit closer to him before flipping her hair over one shoulder and cocking her head to the other side. “I’m actually here because I need a favor.” She fluttered her eyelashes once, twice, and then held back from going for a third time. This really wasn’t something she could afford to overdo.

Norris seemed a bit dazed as he sat down and breathed out a half-hearted, “What?”

“I’m trying to help my dad track a perp. I know she was in this mall, right about –” she pointed to the third screen on the left, “– there. At 2:30 last Tuesday.”

Norris nodded slowly.

“I need you to let me look at the surveillance tapes from that day so I can track where she went, who she talked to, stuff like that.” Veronica held herself still as she watched his face. Her studied casualness was as brittle as a snow cone with all the flavor sucked out. When he leaned back in his chair and began to smirk, she felt the ice crystals begin to collapse in on themselves.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“… Yeah?” Veronica wasn’t sure she really wanted to hear this. She tried to tell herself that, as long as it didn’t involve posing with a big sword in leather underwear, she’d be okay.

“Here's the thing. There's this big convention in San Diego every year – ComiCon, but it’s not just for comics, lots of weapons collectors go too – and there are demonstrations and displays and you can find some great stuff, but its not really fun if you go by yourself…”

Suddenly the leather bikini was taking on a frightening likelihood, and Veronica felt she had to nip this in the bud.

“Norris, you know I’m dating Logan Echolls, right?”

“Yeah?” Norris looked confused, so she pressed on.

“He… he can get really jealous sometimes, and I don’t think…” She stopped when Norris began to laugh.

“I wasn’t talking about you. My girlfriend, you know Jenny Cotter? She was in your grade. Anyways, she always says she hates these things, but she’s fine once she gets there, and we always have a great time. I even rented a room for us.”

“Okay…” Veronica hoped he’d get to his request soon to take away the mental picture currently playing in her mind.

“I need you to buy her a couple presents for me. For her birthday.” He began scribbling a short list of items on a sticky pad.

“Why can’t you just…” She read the list.

And then she read it again.

“Edible panties?”

Norris nodded. “And the other lingerie. They sell them all at ‘ _Bad Kitty_ ’ here in the mall. It’s her favorite store, but it’s pretty… Well, come on! It’s a chick store. And I _work_ here. I’d never hear the end of it from the other guards, or my friends, or…”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“So. Do that, and I’ll give you a laser disc with the full day’s security feeds. Deal?”

He held out his hand to her, and she tried to look away as she slipped her palm into his grasp.

“Deal.”

* * *

It really wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to her, Veronica assured herself. There wasn’t a leather bikini on the list, for starters. And, as she pulled out the wad of cash Norris had given her and began to count it out for the clerk, she consoled herself with the fact that no one she knew had seen her.

“If this is what an apology looks like, we should fight more often.” An arm circled her from behind and grabbed a package of pink cherry-flavored panties from the counter. Veronica took a deep breath before she turned to face Logan.

“Yeah. You’ll look totally cute in them.” Veronica blinked innocently up at him.

“As long as you wear this –,” Logan snatched the lacy black corset as he moved to stand beside her, “– I’m game for anything.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the sales clerk, seemingly unfazed at the many stares being leveled at him by the other customers. Norris had been right; this place didn’t see a lot of men.

“Look, these aren’t for me, okay?” Veronica paused when she realized that that possibly sounded worse than the alternative.

“Whatever you say, darling.” Logan picked up a g-string from a nearby bargain bin and stretched it between his fingers, aiming it at her heart like a sling-shot as he sighted down its ruffled length.

The sales girl was beginning to shoot Veronica a please-get-him-out-of-here look, and she quickly paid for Norris’ bribe and hustled Logan towards the exit, hissing at him to be quiet when he exclaimed, “Hey, look, 24 carat gold earrings, shaped like tiny dicks! Maybe if you’re _really_ good until your birthday, honey…”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll start making jewelry that’s a bit more… realistic, if you get my meaning.”

“And this is the thanks I get for trying to take a little bit of interest in your work?”

Veronica slowed her stalking stride down the promenade and slid her eyes to the side to glance at Logan.

“This _is_ for a case, right?” He angled his head to watch her as they walked along.

“It’s… slightly more personal than that.” Veronica began to talk with a quiet, measured pace, pausing only when other shoppers passed too close. Logan’s eyes grew wide as he listened, and she found the sympathetic turn of the corner of his mouth set a war raging within her. Part of her wanted to crawl into his embrace and listen to the soothing words she knew he would offer, because, if ever anyone understood what it was like to be disappointed again and again by a mother and still love her, it was Logan. But another part of her rebelled against that yearning, scorning the softening of her heart. She had survived just fine before Logan Echolls was there to fight her battles with her. Hell, she’d been fine when one of her regular battles _was_ Logan Echolls. As she reached the end of her story, she decided to settle for the middle ground of practiced nonchalance, and she continued to stroll towards the security room.

“Well, let’s get a look at this tape then, huh?” Logan’s voice was airy, as if he was discussing a second rental of _Easy Rider_. He slipped his hand into hers, a gentle touch, an occasional tug, pulling up and to the left, as they crossed the highly-polished floor.

Veronica felt an answering upward tug at the corners of her lips and picked up her pace.

* * *

With Logan watching over her shoulder, Veronica fired up her laptop as soon as they’d found a quiet bathroom near the guard room and secured the door. She struggled to ignore his breath on the nape of her neck, stirring the downy wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail, as they sat on the clean floor near the entrance. Instead she focused on the tedium of searching 156 large movie files for a single clue about what Lianne had done at the mall, or where she might have gone afterwards.

Unfortunately, the security plan of the shopping mall might as well have been designed by a set of sock monkeys. There were blind spots wide enough to drive a convoy of semis through, and it soon became apparent that Lianne had used one of the three doorways with no security coverage to enter and exit the location.

About all the data disk was good for was to confirm that Veronica’s mother _had_ been in the building at the same time as Colleen Sharpe, and that she had indulged in a craving for vanilla frozen yogurt at the time.

Veronica allowed herself to relax back into Logan’s arms as the second failure of the day washed over her. His forearms were firm and sturdy beneath her hands. High on her back, she could feel the regular pounding of his heart against his chest. An easy lethargy over took her as her eyelids slid shut.

But then Logan nuzzled at the curve of her neck and she stood up. She bent and gave his pursed lips a quick buss by way of apology, and began to pack up her laptop.

“So, I was thinking… I still haven’t seen your place with actual _furniture_ …”

“Yeah,” Logan raked a hand though his hair as he watched her busy work. “That’s gonna be impossible for pretty much anyone.”

“I thought you and Dick –”

“Yeah. Ikea.”

“Oh.” Veronica’s lips relaxed into a grin.

“But if you do want to come over…” Logan’s words trailed off as their tone of hopefulness increased. He moved closer to her.

Veronica slipped her arms over his shoulders, clasping her hands behind his neck.

“I do.”

“Well then, by all means, come as you like.”

Veronica dropped her head to his chest and groaned. She pulled away and grabbed her bag.

“Tomorrow night. It’s a date. But you have _got_ to work on your A-material.”

“Hey, that one knocked ‘em dead at the Apollo,” Logan protested.

“The good dead or the bad dead?”

“Catch my floor show, and you tell me.”

Veronica smirked. “You’re on. But I’m warning you: serve me veal and you’ll never work in this town again.” She left the bathroom twirling an imaginary cigar and chuckling to herself.

* * *

The next day was spent engaged in the real bulk of PI work; data searches and other mundane tasks. Veronica was desperate to find a further connection between the girls that had gone missing, but there was always at least one of them that stood out in each comparison. They were all rather young, but Starla was several years younger than any of the others. That was, perhaps, why Lamb couldn’t treat her as a runaway. Tracy had lived outside the traditional borders of Neptune. Marisol’s family had only recently moved from Mexico, while Rosa’s mother and father had both been born in the United States.

For a break from the dizzying facts, Veronica turned to the frustrating lack of them in the investigation of her mother. She pored over the surveillance tapes again, hoping she’d missed something. She tried to check on aliases at the hotels, but many of the desk clerks were annoyingly dedicated to client privacy. Veronica even made some phone calls to a few of her mother’s old friends in the surrounding area, while keeping her fingers crossed that her inquiries wouldn’t get back to her father.

Her father.

Keith had come back from a dentist appointment at two o’clock, full of pep and trying very hard to forget the last few weeks of estrangement had taken place. He’d kissed her head and asked about her progress at working out a schedule at Hearst, asked how Logan was doing, asked about anything that wasn’t at the heart of their issues. He had tap-danced around their problems so well, with so many smiles and flourishes, that Veronica found herself being caught up in the music of his willful ignorance. She added her own twirls and dips to their song and dance, continuing until he disappeared behind the closed inner office door.

And then she felt guilty.

He was reaching out, trying to make things better. The least she could do was meet him halfway. Maybe she could suggest they take the morning off and see a movie the next day. She pulled together the expense account she was preparing and entered his office after a quick knock.

“So he was still hanging around the station when –” Keith looked up at her entrance and quickly finished with, “I’ll have to call you back later, Rob,” before hanging up the phone. He smiled at her with the same cheer as before, but Veronica hardened her heart to it.

From a foot above the desk, she dropped the folder in front of him, feeling a stab of satisfaction when the resulting puff of air caused him to blink and sit back.

“Here’s the budget report. I’m heading over to Logan’s now. I’ll be home around eleven.” She paused on her way out the door and added, “We’ll probably catch a movie tomorrow, so I’ll be into work late.” She let the door to his office fall closed before she could hear his reply.

* * *

Veronica set the steaming meatloaf in the middle of the dinning table with a self-satisfied grin.

“You didn’t have to do this.” Logan gestured to the intimate table setting and home-cooked meal before meeting her gaze.

“I wanted to.”

They took their seats and Logan began to squint at the main dish. He held a hand out, level with the table top, and then started to tilt it.

“Is it just me, or is this delicious piece of culinary lovin’ leaning to the left… by a _lot_?”

Veronica swatted at his hand and served up their dinner. She took pleasure in each appreciative moan Logan uttered, but soon found her mind drifting back to the dark maze it had been negotiating all day.

When Logan had to ask for the salt for what turned out to be the third time, he pushed back from the table and folded his arms across his chest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Veronica took a sip of her wine and cast Logan a sheepish look.

“I’m sorry. I’m still just so wrapped up in this thing with my mom. Add the missing girls on top of that, and...” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m any closer to finding anything than I was when Weevil asked for help.”

“Yeah, well, Weevil has it easy; all the time in the world to worry, and one big fat excuse for not actually doing anything. I wonder if his cellmate is pretty,” Logan mused.

When Veronica glared at him, he held up his hands in surrender.

“Hey, that Wentworth Miller is a hottie!”

Veronica snorted but hid her smile behind her wine glass as she finished the remaining liquid.

“They could discuss the merits of totally bald versus an artistic bit of hair growth. What do you think?”

Veronica was now _trying_ to focus on the mysteries at hand. Anything to stop the image of Weevil and the star of _Prison Break_ rubbing each other’s heads from playing in her mind’s eye.

“You are seriously bad.”

“I try.” Logan grinned.

Veronica tipped the wine bottle over her glass and was rewarded with only a few mouthfuls.

“Well, why don’t you _try_ to make it up to me by breaking out a new bottle?”

“Yes, yes, fetch this, carry that,” Logan griped as he moved towards the kitchen. “You’d think if I was going to be your slave, you could at least take advantage of me from time to time.”

“Oh, my god.”

Logan turned around, confusion and concern warring across his face for dominance.

“I, uh, didn’t mean…”

“No. Not that. Logan,” Veronica gulped as the statistics of her kidnapping researched flew through her mind, as she recalled the way Starla’s mother had misspoke several times, as she finally recognized that Andre’s shuffle had been more of a limp.

“I think I know what happened to Starla.”

* * *

Veronica cut the headlights half a block from the Ayala’s house and eased the LeBaron into a spot across the street.

“I don’t understand what you’re hoping to find,” Logan whispered into her ear as he leaned across the parking brake and peered at the house. It was an hour after sunset, and figures flickered across the drawn curtains of the front windows, like a set of sinister puppet shows.

“I don’t know either, but there’s something wrong in that house, Logan. I don’t know how I missed it yesterday, but the mother was seriously off, and the little brother – I think they’re abusing the kids. I think they know exactly where Starla is.”

“So, what now? Call Lamb?”

Veronica snorted. “I think his soft spot for abused kids might be overwhelmed by his apparent belief that people of Hispanic descent only live in his jurisdiction when they’re making life hard for his richer clients. No, we need proof before we go to him.”

With a decisive nod, Veronica exited the car and began to creep towards the house. Logan followed, cursing under his breath.

He caught up with her behind a small bush, from which she was peering at the side of the house. She felt the blood drain from her face when she caught a brief flash of light from the cracked basement window. She held a shaking hand up to point it out to Logan as the light returned. It remained uninterrupted for a minute longer, and then was extinguished.

Logan settled a hand around her upper arm and tried to hold her back, but she shrugged him off. Like the antithesis of a moth, Veronica was drawn to the dark rectangle in the side of the house. She couldn’t see more than a small patch of cement slab flooring and a few boxes when she peered through, but she knew she had to go in, even if the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up at nervous attention. She held her breath as she pushed on the window, and wasn’t sure whether to swallow or release it when the wooden frame swung open.

She settled by sticking her feet through the hole and sliding in.

“Veronica,” Logan whispered. “What are you doing?” He didn’t stop her, though, and held her hands as she kicked around gently for a foothold. When she settled onto a solid box and disappeared all the way inside, she wasn’t surprised to see him turn and begin to follow her down. She took a small moment to appreciate the silhouette of his ass before she turned to face the room.

The ceiling was low with exposed pipes and cables. The floor hadn’t been swept in an age, and the slabs was dimpled in places and scuffed in others. Only three other windows were set into the walls, so it took a while for Veronica’s eyes to adjust to the light. Logan apparently had better night vision, and he took several steps into the gloom, towards the center of the room.

A sound, half way between a squeak and a whimper, escaped from the far corner. Logan moved quickly past two piles of boxes until Veronica had trouble making him out in the dusty twilight.

“Jesus fucking God.” 

Veronica shushed his loud exclamation as she navigated the darkness with a sweeping hand and foot leading the way.

“What is it, Logan?” She couldn’t help but ask, even as part of her might have preferred to jump back through the open window and into the free night air. Logan was silent.

When she rounded the final corner she had to choke back a few choice expletives of her own.

There, in the faint light cast through one of the windows, was the tiny body of Starla Ayala. If not for the involuntary shivering as she clutched thin and ragged clothes to herself, and the slow trailing of tears from her wide, dark eyes, Veronica would have thought she was dead. The girl was already starting to show the signs of malnutrition and dehydration as she sat against the wall, curled into a small ball of pain. Her eyes seemed larger, hovering over the dark shadows below them. Her cheeks were sallow, her hair limp and covered with dirt.

“Starla?”

She twitched at her name, lifting her head to stare at Veronica before she glanced down again. Her neck had been exposed long enough for Veronica to see the collar, simple and black, against the dull yellow of her skin. She saw now that the girl was chained to a large metal hoop in the wall. Logan suddenly knelt to the ground and Starla scuttled backwards, as if trying to burrow deeper into the corner of the building. Veronica held out her hands and crooned softly to the girl.

“It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going to get you out of here. My name is Veronica, and this is my friend Logan.”

She kept her voice low and even as she reached for her phone.

“Veronica,” Logan hissed.

She turned to him in surprise, only to see what had caught his attention. Illuminated by the cool green glow of her cell phone, she saw that the ground was littered with devices of improvised torture: a piece of knotted rope, two wire coat hangers that had been mutilated into long metal whips, and an old belt. Logan’s eyes seemed to burn through her as his hands hovered over the evil things.

Veronica broke his gaze and looked closer to the wall. She realized that what she had mistaken as another piece of basement debris was, in fact, a dog’s plastic food and water dish. The anger from Logan and the despair and fear from Starla were making it hard for Veronica to breath. She dialed 9-1-1 and pressed her hand against the crumbling cement wall as her call was patched though. The situation tumbled out of her mouth at a speed not even she could follow, but she gritted her teeth when the operator made her repeat things again, kept posing questions for her to answer when all Veronica wanted to do was scream out for someone to come and get them.

She had finally received confirmation that the police were on their way when Logan touched one of the items on the floor. A quick inhalation of air was their only warning before Starla started to cry out.

“No, no, por favor! Señor, please, please, no más!” She babbled on in a mixture of Spanish and English, her eyes focused but wild as she stared at the strangers in front of her. She only twisted away and screamed louder when Veronica moved closer to try to calm her down.

A loud thump sounded from above, and Veronica thought her heart might stop. Logan cursed again and raced though the cellar to stand behind the foot of the stairs. Veronica relayed what was happening to the emergency dispatcher and pleaded with her to get someone there _now_. And then she disconnected the phone, hiding the light of the display.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, slicing a beam of white light through the night of the cellar. A pair of shoes, new and well-shined, descended the steps with measured finality, each footfall seeming to echo across the small room. The rest of the man was revealed a piece at a time. He was dressed nicely in pressed slacks and a starched white shirt that nearly glowed where it crossed into the dark. Before his head had cleared the ceiling level, he addressed the room.

“Hija? What did I say would happen if you made noise like a bad animal?”

Starla whimpered and turned her face into the wall.

Three things happened when the man reached the foot of the stairs. One, he grabbed a swinging string from the ceiling and turned on the light. Two, he saw Veronica, standing in front of his daughter, breathing heavily. And three, he _didn’t_ see Logan, who flew at him from behind and tried to get him into a headlock.

Starla’s father aimed an elbow at Logan’s side, and Logan released him with a gasp. Logan avoided the first punch, only to have the second one hit him squarely in the jaw. He ran at the older man and carried him into a pile of boxes, even as the blows rained down on his head.

Starla began to shriek, clawing at the collar around her neck as she pushed herself up the wall. Veronica, at a loss, took a step forward when she thought there was an opening for her to help, only to fall back again as the two men circled each other and Logan stepped in her way. She couldn’t fully see what happened, but Logan was suddenly at her feet. The sound of leather whistling through the air and cracking against the ground cut off the screaming. Mr. Ayala stood above them, folding the belt back into his hands.

“What are you doing in my house? Who are you people?”

“Fuck you,” Logan spit the words from the floor as he began to get up. The belt came down hard on his left shoulder and he cried out. The old man raised his whip a third time just as more footsteps thundered down the stairs.

“Freeze! You’re under arrest! Throw down your weapon and put your hands in the air!” 

There were very few times in Veronica’s life where she honestly admitted to being glad to see Sheriff Don Lamb. This was one of those moments.

* * *

“So, I figure the aunt, Monica, didn’t know about the abuse. It seems they kept it well hidden. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Andre went through something similar. I don’t _think_ it was anything sexual.”

Veronica shuddered under the ambulance-issued blanket and watched as Lamb took down her statement. Over his shoulder, Logan and Starla sat in the open ambulance, and she saw Logan lean over to whisper something to the little girl, who awarded him with a shy smile.

“What’s going to happen to them?”

Lamb met her gaze without his trademark sneer. “The children will go into protective custody. It’s a pretty hellish system, but better than this by far. We have the father pretty cold on abuse if you and Logan testify. I’m not sure about the mother.” He made a few more marks on the page before he looked up again. “Should I even bother asking what made you look into this?”

Veronica was hesitant to bring up Weevil’s request. “I thought there might be a connection between this and the Ramirez kidnapping.”

“You mean the Ramirez _runaway_.”

Veronica set her jaw and forged on. “Two other girls with similar profiles went missing back in 2003. I don’t think it’s a stretch to at least _consider_ that there could be a connection.”

“Well, the grand conspiracy theories are always the sexiest, but in my experience as a _qualified_ law man, they only add up to a lot of mental masturbation in the end.”

Veronica sputtered.

“Oh, and 2003? Why, I do believe that would have been on your _dad’s_ watch. Did he ever find them?” Lamb inquired sweetly, tisking at her inability to give an affirmative answer. “Oh, how I hate to see such incompetence on the force.”

“Yeah. It’s the _worst_.” Veronica’s eyes narrowed as Lamb flipped his notepad closed. Before he could walk away she lashed out. “Whoever shot at my dad was pretty incompetent, too.”

Lamb chuckled as he walked backwards to his patrol car. “Yeah, and wasn’t that just a crying _shame_.”

Veronica knew her mouth was hanging open. She knew that every step she took closer to his retreating form only made his cocky smile shine brighter. Still, she couldn’t help it.

Logan came to stand next to her as Lamb turned over the engine. Lamb looked up at the two of them from behind the bullet proof glass of the squad car and grinned. Just as he pulled away, he raised his hand and pointed, shooting a finger gun straight at Veronica and pretending to blow away the blast smoke from the tip of his index finger.

“What an ass,” Logan observed.

Lamb was an ass, no question. But was there more to it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you positively must discover what happens next, the whole story may be found over [at the host LiveJournal community](http://community.livejournal.com/vm_summer/2345.html) as long as it is not deleted. It will also be posted here, one chapter a day until it is complete.


	7. Forgive Us Our Trespasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica follows up on her suspicions about Sheriff Lamb's connection to her father's shooting and makes a surprising discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [__tiana__](http://users.livejournal.com/__tiana__/) and [sadiekate](http://sadiekate.livejournal.com/)  
> Their Notes: _Big thanks to mutinousmuse for her super beta work, and to lex_83, shizam23 and sarah_p for their helpful comments. And since this is __tiana__ typing, much, much love to my fabulous co-writer sadiekate! This was a HUGE treat to write with you._

It was uncomfortably quiet in the Crown Vic as Keith steered through the nearly deserted streets of Neptune. Most of the town’s wealthier denizens had departed for the summer, presumably craving visits to Europe and yachting adventures and spa retreats to unwind from their busy lives of corruption. The swankier part of downtown was so empty, Veronica half-expected to see tumbleweeds blowing across the wide boulevard.

Luckily for the bottom line at Mars Investigations, however, there were still just enough corrupt wealthy people in Neptune doing just enough myriad corrupt things to keep Keith and Veronica busy and fed. In this particular case, adultery. 

“So, why did you need my help on this?” Veronica asked, when she couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “I mean, it seems like a pretty basic case.”

“Maybe I just wanted to spend a little quality time with you,” Keith said cheerily, seemingly oblivious to the awkward pauses.

Veronica bit her lip and stared out the window. 

“Also,” Keith admitted. “It’s a little difficult to get photographic evidence of an affair at the Grand. They tend to frown on schlubby guys lurking in the hallway with a camera for some reason.”

“It’s so much easier when they slum it,” Veronica concurred. Talking shop like old times lifted one layer of the thick tension in the car.

“Exactly. So far, I haven’t even been able to pin down who our scarlet woman has been having the affair with,” Keith explained. “He must arrive first and put the room on his card, because there’s never any action on any of her cards there. And even if I waited around all night, there’s no way I could figure out who her paramour is. I can’t even get to the elevator without hotel security waylaying me.”

“Thus, making it impossible for you to find out who’s way laying her,” Veronica mused.

Keith groaned, but she could see his relief at her active participation in the conversation. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Logan,” he said affectionately. “Your sense of humor used to be way better.”

Veronica couldn’t quite muffle a smile.

“So, I guess you want me to go in and try to check out a selection of hotel bills within the time frames our mystery man has been there before? What’s my angle, grieving young widow who suspects her late husband was having an affair?”

“That’s a good one,” Keith said approvingly. “Takes care of any question of confidentiality.”

“Plus, most concierges are very uncomfortable with human emotion. A few fake tears should scare the financial records right out of ‘em.” 

“I am a little disappointed,” Keith sighed. “I was _really_ hoping that this time I’d get to be the pregnant teenager.” 

“It’s good to have dreams,” Veronica grinned, patting his knee as they pulled up to the valet stand.

* * *

A half hour later, Veronica was dabbing a damp paper towel under her eyes in the ostentatious ladies’ room in the lobby of the Grand. The fake waterworks had yielded a ton of hotel bills for the time periods the assignations had taken place, but there hadn’t been an overlapping name in the bunch. So, they were effectively back to square one.

Oddly enough, Veronica didn’t mind. She was actually looking forward to grabbing dinner with her dad and running some more angles for the case. When they had a mutual project, some kind of shared goal, it was easy to forget for a while that he was keeping things from her.

She had really kind of been missing her daddy-daughter time. Not that she would be admitting that out loud anytime soon.

Veronica patted her face dry and met Keith in the lobby.

“I was thinking Chinese?” he suggested.

“You should probably master thinking in English, first,” she countered, and he rolled his eyes.

They had almost made it to the front door when the strains of Latin music filtering through the lobby stopped Veronica in her tracks.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Keith looked down at her, concerned.

“Come with me,” she said enigmatically. “I’m fairly certain it’ll be worth your while.”

Veronica followed the rhythm of the music to its place of origin, tugging her dad by the elbow. She positioned them behind a large potted tree and peered into the large ballroom, her eyes scanning the twirling dancers within.

“There,” she hissed, pointing to the far right corner.

“Is that … Lamb?” Keith asked incredulously.

“Oh, it is indeed,” Veronica said gleefully. “I think the more important question is … is he wearing toreador pants?”

“Please tell me you have heavy-duty surveillance equipment in that bag of yours,” Keith muttered, rubbing his hands together.

“Never leave home without it,” she said triumphantly, producing her camcorder with a flourish.

“I raised you so well,” Keith said proudly, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

Veronica smiled fondly at him before lifting the camera to her face and zooming in close.

* * *

“I’m still not clear why you needed my help setting up for this party,” Veronica said, sprawling out on the couch and casting a look around Logan’s new living room. “I always thought the recipe for an ’09er soiree was, ‘take one part rich kids and five parts alcohol and stir’.”

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Logan said, settling down on the opposite end and pulling her feet onto his lap. “We sometimes also have bonfires.”

“Shoot. I forgot about that.” Veronica snapped her fingers. “Well, I was going to suggest you have pony rides to liven up the shindig, but I don’t think I’m comfortable bringing ponies around open flames. Somebody might get ideas.”

“Mmm, pony burgers,” Logan sighed contentedly, and she laughed as she halfheartedly kicked him.

“You could have clowns,” she suggested.

“You hate clowns,” he reminded her.

“I know. So I won’t mind so much if someone decides to make clown burgers.”

“You are a sick and twisted individual,” Logan informed her, pulling her around so that she was leaning up against him.

Veronica snuggled up under his arm, sliding into the kind of moment that had eluded the two of them in recent times.

“It’s part of my charm,” she said knowingly.

It was nice seeing Logan relaxed in his own space. Veronica hadn’t entirely understood why he’d decided to buy a house in the first place. After all, if she’d had the kind of money he had access to, she would have been halfway around the world by now. He was positively gleeful about throwing himself a housewarming party, though, and Veronica was starting to get the appeals of homeownership. After all that time virtually living in the pool house off his parents’ house, and then almost a year in a hotel, it was good for him to have a place of his own.

Who would have thought that stability would suit Logan Echolls?

Veronica scooted a little closer to him, tilting her face up and pressing a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“Hey,” he grinned down at her.

“Hey yourself,” she replied.

Logan brushed her hair out of her eyes, and she leaned up into his touch.

The moment was effectively spoiled when Luke, Casey and JP stumbled through the door with an already-tapped keg.

“I drank like, half of this in the car on the way here,” Luke announced proudly.

Logan smiled down at Veronica ruefully.

“Looks like this party has officially started,” he announced, rising to his feet.

* * *

Two hours later, the party was in full-force, and Veronica was officially not having fun. The only place not crowded with whooping boys, drunk on Heineken and testosterone, was the back deck, and even that hideout was tainted when Luke stumbled out and puked gloriously and voluminously over the railing.

Veronica sighed and grabbed her bag, gingerly stepping around Luke.

“I think I’m going to go,” she told Logan, shouting over the booming music.

“But it’s still early!” Logan protested, following her to the door.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s a little crazy in there,” Veronica said, rubbing her arms uncomfortably. “Anyway, I told my dad maybe I could help him some more with this case he’s working, so …” She looked toward the door to avoid too much eye contact. Though she was telling the truth about her Dad, her escape had a lot more to do with the way ’09er parties still made her want to flee. Even if the ’09er throwing the party happened to be her boyfriend. 

“Okay,” Logan said dubiously. “Well, call me later, just so I know you didn’t get into too much trouble.”

“I’ll be with my dad. How much trouble could I get into?”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Point taken,” Veronica sighed. “Fine, I’ll call you when I get home. By the way, you might want to check on Luke. The last time I saw him, he was throwing up that half of a keg he drank out on your back porch.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Logan griped. “Thank you for that.”

“Have fun!” Veronica chirped brightly, kissing him quickly before hopping into her car. Logan watched her pull away, hands on hips, frowning slightly before turning towards the sound of glass breaking inside with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

Veronica was nearly knocked over by Backup as she threw the door open to the apartment, his whole body wagging. He made a low whine, snuffling against her hand. 

"Hey, boy. What's up?" She looked around as she ruffled his ears and patted his wriggling back, noting the single lamp on in the living room. Brows drawing together, she called out. "Dad?"

Releasing Backup, she walked towards her Dad's room before a piece of yellow legal paper caught her eye on the counter. The line between her eyes deepened when she recognized her Dad's neat printing. Just as she went to pick it up, her cellphone began to play, the strains of Whitney Houston belting out ‘The Greatest Love of All’ filling the kitchen. Eyes rolling automatically at Logan’s self-selected ringtone, Veronica snapped it open and offered a quick 'Hey' even as her eyes began to scan the note. 

_...turned out the perp was a Neptune Grand staffer using empty rooms to meet with his lady love, so no records. Thanks for the assist last night ...._

The sounds of the party were muffled, making Veronica assume Logan had locked himself into his bedroom, likely the only spot in the house safe from partygoers. 

"Veronica? Are you home?" Logan asked.

"Yep, I'm here." She tensed as she read the end of the note. 

A few seconds of silence hung over the line, as Logan waited for more. "Oookay. Is everything cool?" 

"Yes, everything is -" Veronica's eyes scanned the last line of Keith's note for the second time, her voice tightening. " - fine. It's fine."

_Hope you had a good time at Logan's party, but not too good a time. On a case tonight, so I'll see you in the a.m. Love, Dad_

"Veronica, you don't sound - " A loud thump came through the phone. " - damn it, hold on." 

"I'll let you go, Logan. Talk to you tomorrow." Without waiting for a reply, Veronica flipped the phone closed and walked to the couch, note in hand. Crumpling it in a ball, she flopped onto the couch with a sigh. 

Backup came over, nuzzling into her hand once again. She looked down at him, wistfully. "It's just you and me, bud. Looks like Dad’s the only one spending quality time with the seedy underbelly of Neptune tonight.” 

Veronica sat on the couch for all of five minutes before she got restless. It was easy to blame it on disappointment in her Dad for once again leaving her on the outside looking in. But the truth was that she simply wanted to be doing what she did best: uncovering secrets, tracking down the bad guy and generally putting her nose where it didn’t belong. She glanced down at Backup, now sacked out by her feet, and couldn’t hide a sudden grim smile. There was one seedy underbelly she’d been meaning to go after for the last few days.

Five minutes later, she cranked the engine of the LeBaron and pulled out onto the dark, wet streets of Neptune, bag full of trusty surveillance equipment at her side. Her mind was on the task at hand, but she didn’t fail to notice a glossy red Mustang coming around the corner and falling in behind her. 

The Mustang stayed with her as she made her way downtown. Veronica adjusted her rearview mirror and frowned. She supposed it could be a coincidence that the car was heading across town at the same time she was, but it didn’t feel like one. And her Dad, when he was actually communicating with her, had taught her to always trust her instincts. Her eyes darted to the mirror and back to the road, trying to write it off to her mood. To the sense that things in her life were just a little bit off. When the Mustang made a turn just before she reached her destination, Veronica released the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding and re-focused on her goal.

On a quiet side street, she slumped down into the seat, pointing her camera just barely out of the open window. His house was nondescript, small, tucked away in an equally nondescript neighborhood. The presence of flowers in the yard surprised her, but the jacked up pickup truck complete with busty lady mudguards in the driveway did not. No sign of his patrol car, but there was a small garage. It was probably ill-advised to advertise where you lived when you were the Sheriff in a town like Neptune. Luckily, Veronica had access to that information anyway, and she had kept it tucked away for a rainy night just like this one.

He was home, and giving her nothing from the outside. Sighing, Veronica dropped her head onto the seat back. Normally, she was a lot more patient on stakeouts, but the image of him flashing that smug smirk and wishing harm to her father in his own only slightly indirect way, was making her antsy. She opened her eyes, noting the three windows on the lower floor with lights on. It wouldn’t take long to check them. Decision made, Veronica slung her bag over her shoulder and approached his house from the side, knowing the minute her foot hit his neatly trimmed grass that she was crossing a line. Something in her couldn’t seem to care. If he had a hand in her Dad’s shooting, it wasn’t the last line she was willing to cross.

In the second lit window, she found Lamb sprawled in a recliner, watching TV, drinking a beer. Ten minutes later, he was still watching TV. And drinking a beer. Veronica felt her leg begin to cramp and hoped his neighbors couldn’t see her. Just when had she resigned herself to a return trip to the car since even Lamb was letting her down tonight by not speaking aloud to an empty room about his insidious plot to kill her Dad, she heard a sound. She froze as the steps got closer to her hiding spot and began to look around for an escape route.

Veronica turned just in time to see Logan exit the shadows, exposing himself to view to at least five houses. She gestured him low to the ground, face contorted, but he just kept on loping to her, glancing around. 

Yanking him to her and down, Veronica spit her next words in a harsh whisper. “Dammit, Logan. What the hell are you doing here?”

His voice was an equally rough whisper. “I’m not the one playing Little Bo Peep at some random dude’s house, Veronica,” he snapped at her. Logan looked towards the street. “Where the hell’s your Dad, anyway?”

Realization dawned on her face. 

“Did you - are you driving a red Mustang?” Veronica said, forgetting to whisper. It was hard to remember much of anything, except all the myriad ways she could kill Logan at the moment.

He had the grace to look sheepish at this comment. “Yeah. It’s JP’s. The Xterra was blocked in and he was in no condition to argue. Guess you saw me?” 

She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “Not cool, Logan. Why are you following me?”

“Where’s your Dad?” Logan returned to his earlier question, slightly exasperated.

“Look, my Dad took off on his own case tonight, so I’m staking out Lamb. I can’t help but think he might know something more than he’s letting on about the shooting. You remember how he acted the other night. He was taunting me.” Veronica cut a look in the window, lowering her voice again. She could see Lamb stand up and head toward the hallway and her eyes widened. 

Logan matched her tone. “Yeah, and he never does that just to make you crazy, right, Veronica? This seemed like the kind of job you should do completely by yourself? At the fucking Sheriff’s house?” He ran his hand through his hair, shuffled out of his half-crouch just as she grabbed him and pulled him up. 

“An excellent question, Ms. Mars. Now, turn around. Slowly. You too, Mr. Echolls.” 

They both breathed out, one word between them. 

“Fuck.”

* * *

“This might be a little cozy, but I hear you two are dating _again_. Hey, for all I know, it may not be the first time you’ve done this.” 

The metallic rasp of the handcuffs locking made Veronica grit her teeth. Lamb was enjoying this entirely too damn much. 

“Y’know, Sheriff,” Logan glanced around the interior hallway of Lamb’s house, noting a Meritorious Service Award and half-expecting to see his Boy Scout badges framed, “I’ve had my occasional brushes with the law. And I just have this feeling the papers would have a field day with you cuffing two teenagers in your house when you’re off-duty. It has a certain... unseemly quality to it.”

“Plus, you’re wearing a Journey t-shirt. Also unseemly,” Veronica added, nodding, taking her cue from Logan on the false bravado front. Glancing over at his smirking face, she realized the bravado might not actually be false. 

“Oh, take it easy on him. It’s not his fault that he won’t stop believing. He just wants to hold onto that feeling.” Logan winked at her and she bit down on her lip to keep from grinning at him. As infuriating as he could be, it wasn’t hard to remember why she was dating him in the first place. His penchant for mouthing off to the very people who could make his life hell was something she could relate to quite well. 

She nodded seriously at Logan before turning to Lamb with an innocent expression. He narrowed his eyes at both of them. “Keep talking, wiseasses. Just digging your own graves. I’ve got you dead to rights for trespassing.” Her eyes widened when she realized Lamb was about to search her bag and would easily find her mini digital camcorder. Surely, he would make up some new charge to bring for that little item. Plus, it was a birthday gift. 

Her eyes landed on the TV, and her salvation. Literally. “ _Touched by an Angel_? Well, now I really do feel bad. Logan, we interrupted Lamb’s special time with the Lord.”

Swallowing a snicker, Logan shook his head at Lamb, who looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hand frozen on the strap of Veronica’s bag. “Dude.” 

Lamb hesitated, torn between the TV and the smartass teenagers in front of him. He shrugged and retorted defensively, “Shut it. And, whatever. The Irish chick is hot.” 

Logan widened his eyes. “Della Reese is Irish?”

Lamb made a choking sound, but before he could retort, Veronica jumped in. “What, you couldn't find any old-school Degrassi reruns to wile away your Saturday night?" 

“Keep going,” Lamb warned them. “Keep going and see what happens.”

“Or what?” Veronica said witheringly. “You’re going to handcuff us even more than you already have?”

She held up her right wrist, dragging Logan’s left arm with her, as she jangled their shared restraints.

“He sure does seem to handcuff me a lot,” Logan mused to Veronica. “I think he has a crush on me.”

“That would make a lot of sense,” she said, confidentially. “And if he handcuffs people he has crushes on, well, he must write my name with little hearts around it on his notebook.”

“Oh, whatever,” Logan scoffed. “He’s handcuffed me more times than he’s handcuffed you.” 

“Dream on!” Veronica said indignantly.

“I got arrested on _election night_ ,” he reminded her. “Donny obviously wanted to share his special day with me.”

“He sent his minions to pick you up. That totally doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, well, he made me keep the cuffs on in his office later,” Logan mumbled. 

“Pfft, I got arrested at school,” Veronica said derisively. “Beat that.”

Lamb put his hands on his hips, a muscle in his jaw starting to twitch as he watched the verbal tennis match continue. He half-hoped one of them might implicate the other and give him even more to charge them with. 

“I was arrested at school, too! For the bong thing.” Logan jerked his head toward Veronica as he looked at Lamb. “Incidentally, she framed me for that.” 

“Yeah, but that was by Deputy Sacks, and you weren’t even handcuffed,” Veronica cut in before Lamb could respond. “The Sheriff here came down personally to the school, with his shiny handcuffs of kinky weirdness and hauled me away. You were there. I remember you taking great pleasure in my walk of shame.” She turned her attention to Lamb, who seemed to be fast losing his patience with this little game. “And, just to remind you, I was framed for that, too. Man, does the whole department fall for frame-ups, or what? Must be your stellar leadership.”

“Didn’t he arrest you and Duncan together once, too?” Logan asked.

“Yes. And! He arrested me after Duncan fled the country. He brought a couple of burly dudes with him, too. I think he was afraid I might distract him with something shiny and escape.”

“You’re right,” Logan conceded, nodding seriously. “I think he does like you better.”

“Oh my God, I don’t like either one of you!” Lamb finally erupted. “No wonder you two got back together. Probably no one else can stand to be around either one of you.”

Logan’s face went blank at that, and the corner of Veronica’s mouth twisted slightly.

“So, if the smartass portion of the evening is over,” Lamb continued. “Why don’t we get to the point of this nightmarish little tête-à-tête? Namely, what the hell were you two doing skulking around in my yard?”

“Thinking of bringing some gentrification to your shitty neighborhood?” Logan muttered.

“Try again,” Lamb shouted.

“Actually, we weren’t skulking around in your yard,” Veronica said tightly. “I was skulking around in your yard, until Marcel Marceau over here decided to crash my stakeout.”

“Hey, don’t turn this around on me,” Logan retorted, pulling far enough away from her so that no part of him touched her, the chain of the handcuffs their only link. “You just took off, and I find you across town, alone in the dark, prowling around in someone’s yard. And you act like it’s so ludicrous that I worry about you.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Veronica protested.

“And what _is_ that?” Lamb asked again, his frustration evidently mounting.

“I’m _trying_ to find out exactly how you’re involved in my father’s shooting!” Veronica burst out. She was mortified to realize she was on the verge of tears.

“What are you talking about?” Lamb asked incredulously. For the first time since he dragged the two of them into his house, he looked genuinely startled. 

“You, with your comments the other night about how it was such a crying _shame_ that the shooter didn’t do a better job of trying to kill my Dad. Or maybe you were hoping he would have hit me, too? Even Logan? Three birds, one stone?” Her voice was vehement, nearly shaking with anger. Logan looked from Veronica to Lamb, surprised. They had barely spoken of that night since it happened. 

Lamb shook his head. “Veronica, you never make any sense and you’re making even less now. I didn’t shoot your Dad, for Christ’s sake. I don’t have to listen to this bullshit in my own house, so I suggest you-”

“Where were you the night he was shot?” Veronica glared up at him, undeterred. If the sneaky, stakeout method didn’t work, the full on attack would just have to do.

“None of your business.” He grabbed Veronica’s shoulder, but she shrugged it off. 

She tried to visibly relax, angling for a way to get a straight answer from Lamb. 

“Look, Veronica,” Lamb drawled, reveling in making the snappish Veronica Mars speechless for a few moments. “You can either think of me as an incompetent loser, or as an evil mastermind. But it’s kind of hard for me to be both. You can believe me, or not. Either way, you need to stay the hell out of my yard. In fact, just stay away from me altogether. The last thing I need is to spend another evening at the dinner theater of horror that is your relationship. Jesus. And I thought I had girl problems.” He smacked Logan on the shoulder. “My condolences.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have girl problems if you didn’t date high-schoolers,” Veronica said snidely. 

“And maybe you wouldn’t keep getting handcuffed if you didn’t keep breaking the law. Now, wait here while I go and change into my uniform. This shirt is a classic and I don’t plan on getting it dirty when I take you in and book you.”

“You’re going to book us?” Veronica said incredulously.

“Um, yeah?”

She shook her head, finding her mental footing again. “That is so not a good idea.” 

“Oh really. And why is that?”

“Reach into my bag and hand me my camcorder.” She narrowed her eyes at him, gesturing to the bag with her free hand.

Lamb looked at her suspiciously.

“Oh, relax. It’s not going to self-destruct in thirty seconds, if that’s what you’re worried about. Hand it over.” 

It was a little awkward, flipping open the camera one-handed and scrolling through the files until she found the one she wanted. After a moment, though, the faint sounds of Latin music could be heard throughout the living room.

Lamb’s eyes widened.

“Where did you … how did you …”

“Does the where and how really matter?” Veronica asked rhetorically. “What matters is, I have it. And don’t even think about breaking my camera there, champ. I have backup files on computers that you’ll never even find. You take me in, and two words are going to bring you down. What words, you ask? Paso. Doble.”

“Oh wait, I’ve got three more words,” Logan couldn’t resist chiming in. “With your _mom_.”

Veronica sent him a small, grateful smile. Logan shrugged, almost imperceptibly, then turned his attention back to the recording. 

“Ooh, the way the light’s hitting you in that ballroom, it looks like you might be getting a little thin on top,” Logan continued, warming up a little. 

Lamb’s hand flew up self-consciously to his hair, and Veronica stifled a laugh.

“It’s all right,” Logan assured him. “Bald can be sexy.”

“Oh God, not the Lex Luthor thing again,” Veronica groaned.

“Can I help it if Michael Rosenbaum portrays him as a complex and compelling villain, with a touch of pathos, and still looks good doing it? Donny, you should really check him out. You might pick up a few pointers, if you decide to shift away from incompetence and go the evil mastermind route.”

Lamb pressed his lips together in a thin white line.

“Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll let it go this one time. But I’m not kidding. You need to stay away from me. Take your conspiracy theories and go play in someone else’s backyard. Preferably across the county line, so I don’t have to deal with you.”

“Ah, one more thing, Lamb. Where were you the night my Dad was shot?” Veronica’s voice snapped across the room, the same question, but this time fully loaded. When he narrowed his eyes at her, she wiggled the camera at him. “I also caught your attempts at West Coast Swing. The internet is anxiously awaiting your debut...” 

He reached out and hauled their wrists towards him, unceremoniously uncuffing them. Veronica rubbed at her chafed skin resentfully, and Logan absentmindedly drummed his fingers against his leg.

“I was at the county firing range. Getting re-certified.” Lamb walked to the door and yanked it open, frowning.

Veronica laughed for just a moment. “Failed the test, did you? Now, _that_ is almost as embarrassing as your dance costume.” It didn’t settle her suspicions completely, but it was at least something she could easily verify with a few phone calls. 

“Unless you want to stay and play a game of Risk, you can go now,” he said brusquely, and Veronica rose to her feet. Logan was two paces behind her as she made her way to the front door.

“Hey, Echolls,” Lamb called out, and they both paused and turned to face him.

“You might want to start reconsidering the company you keep,” Lamb smirked. “I mean, first it was the bong set up. And now, she almost got you arrested tonight.” He paused, tapping his chin in thought. “And, if I remember correctly, she turned you in for murdering your other girlfriend. Have you two ever considered couples counseling? Might help you work out some of those trust issues.” He grinned, first at Logan and then at Veronica. 

Logan brushed past Veronica abruptly, but she stood stock still for a moment, her gaze locked with Lamb’s. His were amused and she remembered why she hated him so effortlessly.

“Have a great night,” he said insincerely, giving her a little finger wave. “Drive safe, now.”

Veronica reciprocated with a hand gesture of her own, slamming the door behind her on the way out.

Logan was still outside, pacing the sidewalk. Veronica wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved that he hadn’t taken off after Lamb’s parting shot.

“Look,” she sighed, stepping in front of him so he had to stop walking and look at her. “I’m sorry about that whole thing.”

“Whatever,” he said dismissively.

“Logan, I really was supposed to meet my dad,” Veronica protested. “But he bailed on me, and I just couldn’t stay at home and do nothing. This thing is driving me crazy. I have to figure it out.”

“You could have called me,” he cut her off. “I would have come with you. You can’t just keep running off and doing these things on your own. I mean, you thought Lamb was involved in your dad’s shooting, and so you went to his house in the middle of the night, alone, and unarmed, without telling anyone where you were? Just think about it for a second, Veronica. You’re smart, but you sometimes do incredibly stupid things.”

“I didn’t want to take you away from your party,” she said lamely.

“I wouldn’t have cared,” he said quietly. “I only had the stupid party because I thought you and I might have some fun. We all used to do things like that before, you know?”

“Well, parties aren’t exactly fun for me anymore,” she snapped.

Logan sighed.

“I...but it was _my_ party, Veronica. At my house. And you didn’t even -” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do. You want to go on pretending that everything is fine, but it clearly isn’t. And I just, I can’t-”

Veronica reached out and gingerly touched his shoulder. He stiffened, but didn’t shake off her touch.

“I know I say this a lot, but it _really_ isn’t the right time to talk about this,” she said, indicating Lamb’s silhouette through his front window.

“So pick a time,” he implored.

Veronica shrugged helplessly, and Logan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve got to get back to my house,” he said flatly. “With my luck, those guys have burned it down. Are you coming?”

Veronica hesitated.

“I should get back home,” she hedged. “I want to be there in case my dad gets back.”

She shifted her bag to other shoulder, searching Logan’s face. He evaded her gaze.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said firmly.

“You can’t keep running away, Veronica. I don’t … you just can’t, okay?”

He turned and walked back towards JP’s car, not bothering to wait for a response.

His taillights had long since faded into the distance by the time she began to head towards her car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you positively must discover what happens next, the whole story may be found over at [the host LiveJournal community](http://vm-summer.livejournal.com/2639.html) as long as it is not deleted. It will also be posted here, one chapter a day until it is complete.


	8. Hello Hearst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A freshman orientation week at Hearst College throws Veronica into academic politics and navigating the social scene. It's a toss-up about which one she loathes more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [ladyanne04](http://ladyanne04.livejournal.com/)  
> Her Notes: _Special thanks to truemyth for the awesome beta and to sarah_p and kantayra for the feedback and suggestions._
> 
> Additionally, as this story was plotted and written during the spring and summer of 2006, we knew some spoilers, such as Veronica attending Hearst College, but had not yet seen season three. Judge for yourself how well this lines up with canon!

Marisol Reyes. Rosa Ramirez. Tracy Gonzalez. Veronica flipped through the case file she’d put together, willing some connection to pop out from the jumble of newspaper clippings and sparse clues she’d found. She rubbed her head and turned back to the brief article on Marisol’s disappearance just as the door burst open. 

Veronica jumped and slammed the folder shut before she realized it was Logan’s smiling face greeting her, not her dad’s. 

“Hey you,” Logan stopped in front of the desk and noticed her flushed face. “Did I startle you?” He gave a small smirk. “Ohhh, did I sneak up on the intrepid girl detective? Does that make me like an honorary Hardy Boy now?”

“Sure, Logan, we’ll just call you Joe from now on,” she replied.

“Joe was the pretty one, wasn’t he? So what were you doing that you didn’t want Papa Mars to know?”

She flipped the file back open. “The Ramirez kidnapping.”

“You still haven’t told your dad about that?”

“What’s there to tell? He’d only worry. I just feel like I’m treading water on everything.” She shrugged. “It’s enough to make an intrepid girl detective cranky. But let me ask you a more important question.” She glanced behind him and cocked her head to the side, “What’s in the bag?”

“Bag?” Logan asked, feigning bewilderment. “I know not the bag of which you speak.”

“Nice try. I can smell Italian food from a mile away.” Veronica moved from behind the desk and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss, hoping to snag the bag he was hiding behind him in the process.

Logan kissed her back, but arched away so the bag stayed just out of reach. “None of that. You sit there.” He pointed her to the couch and ducked into the kitchen to grab plates.

Veronica settled herself onto the couch and shuffled some magazines and papers to the side to make room for the food. Logan returned and produced the bag from Mama Leone’s with a flourish. 

“Yummy.” Veronica rubbed her hands together as he began pulling out cartons from the bag. She grabbed a piece of extra cheesy garlic bread and took a bite, before asking around the mouthful, “How’d you know I hadn’t had lunch?”

He shrugged. “You forget to eat a lot when you get buried in a case. And you seemed distracted last night, so I took a chance you’d be hungry.”

“Excellent deduction, Joe.” She couldn’t stop the smile that crept across her face. Logan definitely surprised her sometimes with how thoughtful he could be. “Oh, we need drinks. Hang on a minute.”

She bounced into the kitchen and retrieved two cold Skists from the fridge before returning to the couch. She handed Logan his drink and grabbed the plate of lasagna he’d dished out for her. 

“So that Hearst thing is this weekend?” he asked, holding up the brochure that had been lying on the table.

“Uh-huh. It’s time for Hello Hearst! Lame, huh?” she responded.

“Hello Hearst?” He snickered. “Yeah. What do you do there?” 

She took the brochure from his hands and flipped it open to read. “Hello Hearst is a weekend of fun, friendship and foundations for freshman.”

“How . . . alliterative.” 

“Yep. It’s jam-packed with f-ing goodness.” She skimmed the list, “Meetings with our fall advisors, some sample classes we can attend, a bunch of seminars on campus safety, that sort of thing.” She rolled her eyes as she sat the brochure back on the table. “I haven’t seen Wallace lately, so that’ll be good, but the rest . . . At least it’s all over by Sunday. I can survive a couple of days, right?”

“Sure you can.” Stealing a bite of Veronica’s pasta, he spoke around his mouthful. “But since you’re going to be so busy this weekend, I was hoping you could come over tonight.”

“Really? And whatever would we find to do with ourselves?” she asked coyly.

Logan grinned, “Well, I was thinking we need to start practicing our code.” At Veronica’s raised eyebrow, he continued. “If you decide to live on campus, you’re going to have a roommate, and we need to figure out how I’m going to sneak into your room.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would require code,” Veronica replied.

Logan just smiled at her. “Ahh, but see the code is to let your roomie know that I’m there. You wouldn’t want her to walk in on us or anything . . . now would you?”

Veronica laughed. “I’d think after this summer we’d be pros at not getting caught by people barging into the room.”

“Speaking of getting caught, where is your dad anyway?” Logan looked around the office, “I would have thought he’d be here, recuperating at his desk and being all crotchety.”

“A Mars is never crotchety.” 

“Says you.” Logan dodged Veronica’s hand as she tried to punch him in the arm, “ _I_ remember a certain pint-sized girl who was absolutely horrible when she had the measles. I didn’t even know anyone could complain that much.”

“Anyway,” Veronica changed the subject before Logan could bring up how sexy she had looked with spots all over her body, “he’s out on a case.”

“Is he doing okay? He’s been working a lot for someone who got shot a month ago. I thought the doctors said he was to take it easy for six weeks, or something.”

“I know. And he was.” Veronica knew the worry showed on her face. “But hey, he knows what he’s doing.”

“What case is he working on?”

“Oh, just one of the cases we have on the go. You know how it is, a private dick never rests.”

Logan grinned, “Back to the important topics then. What’s your dorm number for the weekend?”

“They don’t assign it until we get there. Why?” Looking over at Logan, who promptly waggled his eyebrows, Veronica groaned. “You can’t be serious about sneaking into my dorm room.”

“Well, you never want to play those naughty games my house is the perfect location for. I was thinking I could be the bad townie to your straight A honor student. We can christen your dorm before it’s even yours.”

Logan leaned forward into Veronica, and kissed her. She melted into him, letting him pull her even closer as they sank down onto the waiting room couch. His lips whispered something against her throat and she shivered at the vibration as his hand slipped beneath her shirt and caressed the soft skin of her stomach. He was just too damn good at this.

She pulled his face back to hers and found his lips again as they shifted, trying to get closer on the small couch. She hooked her leg around his hip and giggled as his fingers slid further up her side. 

“That tickle?” he murmured.

“Mmhmm,” she breathed, as he gave her another kiss, then began to tickle her in earnest. She shrieked and flailed against his unrelenting fingers until they ended up in a tangled heap on the floor next to the couch.

She rolled over on top of him and looked down. “That was so mean.”

He grinned up at her. “I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you. Come over tonight? I’ll get some dinner, we can watch a movie.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Or make out.” He kissed her nose. “Or even just talk.” He kissed her lips.

“Talk?” Veronica gave him a quick peck back and moved to sit back on the couch. “What kind of teenage boy are you?”

“One who wants to be a part of his girlfriend’s life.” 

“Logan, you are. And we talk.” She started straightening the mess left from their meal as he sat up from the floor and watched her. She glanced down and noticed his serious expression. “Are you okay?”

He gave her a half-smile. “Yeah. Floor’s just a little hard. So will you come over?” 

“Sure.” She stopped mid-cleanup. “Oh wait, let me check something.” She walked over to the desk and flipped through a file stacked on the corner. “Logan, I’m sorry. We’ve got this case, the husband’s stepping out on Thursday nights, and I need to stake out the Camelot, see if I can get the money shot. Rain check?”

“Sure. Later, Veronica.” He sounded frustrated as he turned to leave. 

“Thanks for bringing me lunch,” she called after him as he walked out the door. 

She frowned as she sat back at her desk and opened a file. He could be as moody as a fourteen year old girl lately. She drummed her fingers on the desktop. Maybe she should see if she could get out of working tonight. But it was an easy case and her dad was already doing too much. She just hated seeing Logan look so let down – he’d had enough of that in his life, from her and everyone else. She was trying to be a better girlfriend this time around - they were supposed to be happy, now, damn it. 

Footsteps sounded in the hallway again and Veronica glanced up to see if Logan had come back. The door opened and her father walked in instead. She pulled up a smile as she greeted him.

“Hey kiddo, trouble in paradise?” he asked as he stopped in front of her desk. “I just passed Logan on the stairs.”

Veronica sighed, “Did he say something to you?” 

Her father nodded as he took a seat on the corner of the desk. “He did, in fact. And I quote, ‘Hello, Mr. Mars.’” As Veronica started to relax, he added, “He also looked like someone had just kicked his puppy. Said someone possibly being my daughter. And you don’t look like Mary Sunshine yourself.”

“Oh. I’m fine.” Veronica opened the bag of food she’d moved to her desk and inspected the remaining contents closely without looking at her father. “And you know Logan. He’s had a lot going on.” She glanced up with a frown. “Also, I am so not a puppy kicker.”

Keith regarded her for a moment and sighed. “You know that me,” he pointed to himself and then her, “and you can talk. About whatever, whenever you want. Puppies, ponies, even boys.”

She just wasn’t ready for another daddy-daughter talk on the subject of Logan Echolls. “Well, I guess since I’m eighteen I don’t need your permission for the elopement,” she smiled as her dad rolled his eyes. “I know, Dad. But paradise is peachy right now. No problems. We’re practically throwing our own Jimmy Buffett concert as we speak. Cheeseburgers for everyone.” She pulled out an unopened container from the bag marked manicotti, her dad’s favorite, and held up the wrapped item. “Or in your case, manicotti.”

Keith took the container and pulled up a chair beside her, recognizing the change in subject. “So this is the big orientation weekend at Hearst? Do you have your class schedule all worked out?”

Veronica nodded as she returned to picking at her own pasta. “I think so. Though we’re supposed to meet with our advisor and talk our selections over, make sure we’re getting the core classes we need.”

She took a bite of her lunch and stopped. Her father wasn’t eating, he was just sitting still, watching her with a fond smile on his face. “Dad?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I was just remembering how you use to play school when you were little with all your stuffed animals. And now you’re going off to college.” He shook his head. “It’s just hard to believe it came so quickly.” 

She swallowed the lump in her throat that seemed to come up whenever she thought about leaving her dad. “Hey, lucky you that I decide to go to Hearst. You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” she replied. 

The phone rang and broke the moment. Her dad gave an affectionate tug on one of her pigtails and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. He picked up his manicotti and headed into his office as Veronica reached for the phone. “Mars Investigations.”

She grabbed a note pad and began to jot down Mrs. Jenkins’ latest suspicions about her husband. She had just hung up the phone when she heard a muffled noise and jumped up from her seat. “Dad? Are you alright?”

Her father rubbed at his shoulder as he sat back heavily in his desk chair. “I’m fine. Just try to get down that box off the top of the filing cabinet and it slipped and fell on my shoulder.”

“Are you okay? Did you pull the incision open? Do you need any painkillers, or should I call the doctor, or should we go to the hospital?” She fought to keep the note of hysteria from creeping into her voice. 

“I think it’s fine.” He slid a hand inside the collar of his shirt and checked his injury before pulling his hand out and showing her his fingers. “See, no blood, everything’s still healing nicely. I’ll be alright. Was that Mrs. Jenkins again on the phone?” Keith asked.

Veronica could still see the thin lines around his mouth and the paleness on his face as she reached around him and pulled open the desk drawer to remove the bottle of painkillers the doctor had prescribed. “Yes. The latest object of Mr. Jenkins’ affections is apparently named Coco. And don’t change the subject. Take one.” At her father’s doleful expression, she kept her face firm. “Take it, mister, before I have to get all Nurse Rachett on you. You were supposed to take it easy for six weeks and you’ve been running around like nothing’s wrong for the last month.”

He threw up his hands. “Fine, fine. And if I get loopy with the clients, it’s on you, missy.”

She retrieved a cold bottle of water and handed it to him, watching until he’d swallowed the pills. “Dad, you know, I’ve been thinking. I may not go to this whole orientation weekend.”

“What are you talking about, Veronica?” 

“I don’t really go for the rah-rah stuff and half the things on the schedule sound like glorified pep rallies. I got a feel for the campus life when I did the tour in the spring – it was all very Animal House. I think I may just go for the required meeting with the advisor, get my I.D. card, and call it a day.”

Her father shook his head. “Veronica? I’m fine. A little pull to the shoulder can’t keep a good man down, and I do not need my daughter to baby-sit me for the weekend. Besides, how am I supposed to sneak in the foxy ladies if you’re there all the time? You want to spoil the old man’s fun?”

Veronica frowned and crossed her arms, prepared to do battle when the opening of the office door startled them both.

“We’re not finished with this,” she warned as she exited into the main room and found a man standing there taking in the cluttered office. He was very attractive in a young Pierce Brosnan sort of way, attired in a well-cut suit that whispered old money, the sort not usually found in Neptune. Veronica found herself smiling as he removed his sunglasses and held out his hand. This town had its share of celebrities, but his baby blues would have stood out in any crowd. 

“Hello, I’m Tyler Wilson. I was hoping to meet with Mr. Mars, if he has an opening? It’s rather urgent.”

Veronica shook the proffered hand and gestured to the sofa. “Of course, if you’ll wait just a moment.”

Her father appeared at the doorway just as she turned. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson. Why don’t you step into my office.” 

Veronica settled back behind her desk to listen.

“Now, what can we help you with?” Keith asked.

Tyler Wilson leaned forward, then glanced back over his shoulder at Veronica, who was trying her best to appear fascinated with her computer screen. “This must, of course, stay in the strictest of confidence.”

Keith nodded. “I understand, and I can assure you that anything you need to say can be said in front of my assistant as well.”

“Very well,” Wilson began. “I’m a professor in the psychology department at Hearst University. Are you familiar with the school?”

Keith nodded. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

Wilson nodded, “Then you know that it’s well-respected nationally. The tenured positions are very competitive and it’s finally my turn for consideration by the faculty. I’ve worked hard the last few years for this chance, and until a few weeks okay, I was sure I’d be approved.”

Keith sat back in his chair and gestured for him to continue. “I assume something happened to cause you to feel differently?”

“Indeed. I’ve had excellent support from other department members, stellar teaching reviews, and my last published research was well received.” He paused, “But as I said before, it’s very competitive. I have one more article, some really ground-breaking research on socialization in young female adolescents, which is due for publication later this year. It’s critical for my chances. I’ve almost completed analyzing all of the raw data collected from literally years of observation.”

Keith leaned forward and smiled. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not a psychologist, Professor Wilson, so I’m not sure Mars Investigations will be of much help to you – though I’ll be the first to agree that teenage girls can be quite the mystery at times.”

Wilson laughed. “That they are. But here’s where I could use your help. I believe that someone is trying to steal my data from this study and sabotage my research.”

Keith opened his notepad. “Why?”

“Starting a few weeks ago I began noticing things. I always keep my office locked. Only my research assistant and I have keys, but I’ve found it open twice now in two weeks.”

Keith interrupted, “Are you sure it isn’t your research assistant being careless?”

Wilson shook his head. “No. Sam’s out of town on vacation. I know it’s not him. And not only has the door been unlocked, but the file boxes where I store the case files have been rifled, as though someone were going through them in a hurry.”

“Anything else?” Keith asked.

“My desk. It’s small things, but there are papers shuffled around, things a little off from where I left then.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m a little obsessive-compulsive, and I’m very precise about how my desk is arranged and where I leave things. And someone has definitely been moving things around.”

Keith jotted another note. “What about the cleaning staff, or the department head? Could someone else have unlocked the door?”

“No, I work late most nights, and I’m usually still there when the custodians come by, so I don’t think that it could be them. Of course, the department head does have a key, but he’s teaching a summer aboard program in Prague right now, so it wouldn’t be him.” He smiled. “Believe me, Mr. Mars, I’ve racked my brains for a reasonable explanation as to this. I don’t want to seem delusional or paranoid to the other members of the department. But I think that someone is trying to steal my research.

Keith rubbed his hand along his face and nodded his head. “Then that leads me to the next obvious question, why? And who do you suspect?”

Wilson took a deep breath. “I hate to even suggest this, because she’s been such a mentor to me. The area my research is focusing on overlaps heavily with that of a colleague in the department, Nora Harding. She’s done so much work in this area over the years, but lately she’s been . . . coasting on her laurels, you might say.”

“And you think she might be trying to steal your research?” Keith asked.

“It sounds crazy, I know. After all, she’s _The_ Nora Harding, she’s even an old friend of my family.” Wilson shook his head. “But I found her in my office the other day when I’d stepped out for a minute, and things had been moved on my desk when I came back. She’s also been asking a lot of questions about the study I’ve conducted, more than just professional curiosity.” 

“What would she gain though? Would she really be able to replicate your work or use the research?” Keith asked.

“No,” Wilson said. “I think she just wants to be sure I don’t get tenured at Hearst so that I’ll move on somewhere else. That way I can’t challenge her position, you know.” He leaned forward. “But Mr. Mars, I can’t stress to you enough, this investigation must be discreet. I don’t want to falsely accuse Professor Harding. That’s why I came to you first, before going to the Dean.” 

Keith tapped his pen against the notepad in his lap. “Professor Wilson, is there anyone else? A disgruntled student angry over a grade? Colleagues in the department upset over internal politics?”

Wilson shook his head. “Not that I can think of. I’ve worked hard over the years to build collegial relationships both at Hearst and as a part of the Neptune community.”

“What about personally? Often times we find that these sorts of matters have roots in more intimate relationships.”

Wilson shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve been so busy with my research over the last few years that I’ve had very little time for personal relationships.”

“Of course.” Keith closed the note pad and rose from his seat, extending his hand. “Professor Wilson, we’ll get right on this.”

Wilson rose and took his hand. “Thank you. You come highly recommended, so I’m sure that you’ll find an answer soon. I’m making no progress on the article with this hanging over my head. I want it resolved as soon as possible.”

“We’ll do our best,” Keith replied.

Wilson paused in the doorway and turned. “Mr. Mars, one more thing. If you do discover it’s Nora, I’d like to speak with her myself, see if we can’t resolve this privately. I don’t want to go to the department chair unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Of course. If you’ll just speak with Veronica about the payment, we’ll start work on it today, and we’ll be discreet.”

Veronica explained the fee schedule and received Professor Wilson’s check and dimpled smile before he left. Bet he made the girls of Hearst swoon with that, she mused as she filed the money away in the bank bag and headed into her dad’s office. 

He looked up. “So, think you maybe could do that orientation thing after all? It’s the prefect cover for poking around the campus. Whereas slightly balding, middle-aged men lurking can occasionally be misinterpreted.”

She smiled. “Is this a diversionary tactic so you can still sneak your ladies of the night in for a wild and crazy weekend?”

“You know it.”

She took the note pad with the details he’d written down. “You’re sure your shoulder is okay?”

He pulled out his bottle of pills and shook them. “Oh, I’m feeling no pain. Besides, I need to follow Mr. Jenkins Saturday night and see if I can get the money shot of him and the newest side dish at the Seventh Veil. Which is a place where I blend far better than you.”

Veronica winked. “Only as a customer. But it would involve costumes and stage names and possibly pole dancing lessons for me, so fair enough; I’ll go be the college kid for the weekend. And you,” she pointed a finger at him, “you will take care of yourself.”

Keith’s voice softened. “You know I will, sweetheart.”

* * *

Veronica hefted her bag out of her car on Friday afternoon, looking up as she heard the sound of male voices drawing nearer. An answering smile broke out over Wallace’s face as he finally made it across the parking lot. 

“Hey Supa Fly.” Wallace grinned as Veronica groaned at the nickname. “You’re finally here.”

“Here in the flesh,” she replied. 

“Everybody, this is Veronica,” Wallace introduced her to nods all around and then rattled off the various players’ names faster than she could sort them. Tall seemed to be the defining attribute for the group though. 

“So how’s Hearst? Pros? Cons?” she asked, before realizing she’d lost Wallace’s attention.

“Dude. Tell me that isn’t who I think it is.” Wallace hit one of the other guys on the shoulder, “I thought you made it clear he wasn’t welcome here unless he brought his A game.”

A couple of the other guys laughed, and one of them called out, “Like he _has_ an A game.”

Wallace glanced back at Veronica, who was regarding him with a combined head tilt and pout as she held out her bag. He shrugged and grabbed it. “Don’t even use that thing on me, and I heard you, girlie. Hearst is good, we’re the pros and I think you qualify as the closest thing to a con in this group.” 

“Wallace, we got to go, man, or we’re going to be late for practice,” one of his teammates interrupted.

Veronica took the bag back. “I expect the personal tour later, BMOC.”

“You know it,” Wallace replied as he took off at a run. He tossed over his shoulder, “I’ll come find you after practice.”

Veronica watched him disappear and dropped her bag back to the ground as she grumbled to herself, “Where did I put that map?”

* * *

Having hurdled the check-in and loaded with nametags, leaflets, schedules and exhortations to “get to know Hearst”, Veronica climbed the stairs of Whitmire Hall, her home for the weekend, as the orientation counselor had cheerfully chirped when she handed over the keys and room assignment.

Pushing open the door, she inwardly groaned as the strains of _Toxic_ blasted into the hallway. She double-checked the room number and staggered inside towards the empty bed with her bag. 

“Hi! You must be my roomie for the weekend, I’m Katy. Katy Campbell.” Veronica turned to find an overly enthusiastic brunette bouncing – literally – over to her side of the room. “Doesn’t this song just make you want to dance?”

Veronica really hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open, but she wouldn’t have been surprised. The room seemed to have lost all air after Katy’s faster-than-light introduction. “Sorry, not much of a dancer anymore. And, hi, I’m Veronica.”

Veronica held out her hand, and was quickly enveloped into a bear hug by the girl she was pretty sure was going to be her nemesis by the time the weekend was through. Ditched by BFF? Check. Roommate from hell? Check. She couldn’t wait to see what was next.

* * *

Fifteen minutes into Katy’s wandering monologue on Cottowood Falls, Kansas, her hometown, Trey, her boyfriend she’d just broken up with, and California, which she already loved, Veronica leapt to answer the knock on the door as if it were a lifeline. She opened the door to see Wallace and a couple of the guys from the team, freshly showered from practice and wearing their Hearst gear. Before Wallace could open his mouth, they both jumped at the high-pitched squeal from behind her. 

Veronica grabbed her purse. “I’ll see you later,” she tossed over her shoulder. She pushed Wallace out the door as she heard Katy shriek, “You know _basketball_ players!”

She let out a sigh of relief as the door shut behind them. “Run. Now.”

Wallace laughed. “So you’re coming to the cook-out with us then?” 

“Yes. And if we hurry I think we could lose her,” Veronica said with a nod of her head to the closed door, which was still emanating small squeals of giddiness.

Veronica was reintroduced to the other guys by Wallace, and the group of them made their way to the main quad where the cook-out was taking place. She tried to hide amongst the basketball players who were easily twice her height, but somehow – she was willing to bet it was some karmic kick in the ass – Katy still found her easily, latching onto her arm and declaring them to be the best of friends. Looking over at Wallace, Veronica mouthed ‘save me.’ Wallace just laughed and led the group over to an empty table.

It was part way through Katy’s third, or was it fourth, story about Cottonwood High, where she’d been cheerleading captain, homecoming queen and Miss Cottonwood Falls that Veronica was able to make her escape. Motioning to Wallace that she would call him later, Veronica slipped out of the crowd of people who just couldn’t say enough things about the greatness of Hearst to find the Psychology building.

* * *

Veronica glanced again at the campus map. Davies Hall should be right about . . . here. Veronica looked up at the distinguished brick building and mounted the steps to the wide wooden doors. Which were, of course, locked. She noted the card reader to the side. They were supposed to be issued identification cards tomorrow, but . . . She backtracked down the steps and scanned the side of the building for another entrance. There had to be another way in. 

She circled to the back and discovered a small, nearly empty parking lot surrounded by several trees. Only one vehicle, a car that made the LeBaron look like a shiny new floor model, was there in the gathering dusk. Veronica waited and kept her fingers crossed until the rear entrance opened and a tired looking older woman wearing a blue uniform stepped out the door. 

Veronica darted to catch the door before it could close and launched into her best Katy impression.

“Ma’am? Could you, like, please let me in? I have a class in there, and I totally forgot my wallet, and it’s got, like, everything in it, my campus card, my license, my credit cards. Please! I’ve got to find it tonight.”

“Whatever.” The woman shrugged as Veronica slipped past her. Okay, maybe building security wasn’t quite as tight as Hearst heralded in their brochures after all. Veronica scanned the directory in the center hallway and found the office numbers she was looking for. _Professor Nora Harding – 308. Professor Tyler Wilson – 309_. Bingo.

Veronica climbed the steps to the third floor and found it deserted, the two professors’ offices facing one another near the center of the hallway. Professor Wilson’s door bore a name plate and a single sheet of paper listing office hours and contact information. Professor Harding’s was a more colorful jumble of flyers advertising different campus events and causes. 

A quick search yielded a chair in one of the empty classrooms. With the added height, Veronica positioned a tiny camera in place on the sill above Harding’s door aimed to record access to Wilson’s office. That should answer Wilson’s question soon enough. She stepped down and dusted off her hands with satisfaction.

She returned the chair to the classroom and sat for a minute in the quiet of the now darkened building. It was only a little after nine, but the prospect of going back to the cook-out and hanging with Katy and the Hearst ballers wasn’t exactly enticing. And she had been out until 3 a.m. on last night’s stake-out. 

She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Wallace to let him know she wasn’t coming back, then checked the rest of her messages. One from her dad, asking how things were going. Nothing from Logan. 

Her finger hovered for a moment over the key to dial his number before she pulled back and returned her phone to her bag. She’d call him tomorrow. She headed back down the stairs and exited the rear door to Davies Hall. One lumpy mattress, coming right up.

* * *

“Good morning and welcome to out first official orientation meeting for Hello Hearst!”

Veronica sucked down another sip of her coffee, hoping it would somehow neutralize the chipper orientation counselor who was trying to give Katy a run for her money in the who can annoy Veronica most this weekend event. 

“We’re so happy that some of you could join us last night for the Hearst meet and greet cook-out, but for those who arrived this morning, you haven’t missed a thing, ‘cause we’re just getting started. I’m Jessica, and this is my co-counselor, Nick,” she introduced, as the two stood in the center of the room, dressed identically in khaki shorts and white polo shirts embroidered with the Hearst seal.

“You’re got to be kidding me,” muttered Veronica as Katy leaned over and whispered, “Wow, that is so cool. Don’t you think they kind of look like Nick and Jess? I was totally bummed that they split up. You think they’re a couple?” 

She was saved by a response by Nick’s direction that they should all form a big circle and get ready for introductions. 

“Since we’re all starting off new to each, Jess and I wanted to play a little icebreaker game to help you get to know each other. So we’re going to all introduce ourselves by letting everyone know a little something about who we are.” He smiled broadly, “So tell us your name and an adjective that describes who you are. Okay? I’ll start.”

He gave the group a big wave. “I’m Nosedive Nick, because I love to sky dive.”

Jess popped up beside him. “And I’m Jazzy Jessica, because I love to dance and I’m on the Hearst Highkickers, the official dance team.” 

Veronica rubbed her head. Could Wallace not have warned her about these little games so she could skip out? No wait, he was to busy hanging out with his basketball pals. She vaguely listened as she contemplated how Vicious Veronica would go over with the group, though it was a pretty good description for her current mood.

She realized the group was all staring expectantly at her and she took a last swallow of her coffee and played along with a small wave, “Hi, I’m Visual Veronica, because my hobby is photography.” 

“That’s great, Veronica,” Jazzy Jess concluded with a clap of her hands. “Well now that we all know each other, we’re going to take a campus tour so that you’ll be all ready for this afternoon’s scavenger hunt!”

“Isn’t this awesome, Ronnie? You don’t mind if I call you Ronnie, do you?” Katy asked as she hooked her arm though Veronica’s. “I can’t wait to start this fall.”

“So very awesome, indeed,” Veronica sighed and trailed along behind the Nick and Jess show. “I can hardly wait.”

* * *

Veronica relaxed gratefully into the chair in Davies Hall, thankful that Katy’s scheduled class had taken her elsewhere for the hour. She’d stuck closer than a burr since this morning’s tour, through the appointments to get their campus identification cards, and the fun game designed to show how quickly STDs could spread around the campus.

Hey Nick and Jess? Want to see how fast I can get chlamydia from the mayor of Neptune? No? Me neither.

She closed her notebook as Professor Harding ended the lecture on recent developments in psychology and moved her way towards the front of the class where a few other students had gathered under the apparent theory it was never to early to brownnose. 

The lecture had been one of the orientation’s high points so far. Harding looked like the prototype of the absent-minded professor, glasses perched haphazardly on her graying hair as she repeatedly patted her pockets throughout the hour for the chalk she’d just laid down moments before. But she had a passion for her subject that made the time fly. Veronica hoped Wilson was wrong in his suspicions; she’d really like to take her class.

She waited patiently until the room cleared and stepped forward as the professor shuffled her lecture notes back into a folder. Time to put phase two of the investigation in place, since last night’s video feed had shown nothing. “Professor Harding? Hi, how are you? I’m Veronica.” 

Nora Harding turned around and pulled her glasses down as she peered at the nametag they were all stuck with for the duration of orientation. “Hello . . . Veronica.” 

“Right, Veronica. As you can see, obviously. It’s always so weird when you have a nametag and then everybody knows your name.” She giggled. “I’m sorry, I’m totally babbling, but it’s just, wow, it’s just so cool to get to meet you. I read your study on the causes of teen depression for a paper I did in my AP Psych class and it just inspired me to really pursue my dream of becoming a psychologist.”

Professor Harding smiled. “Well, thank you, Veronica, I certainly appreciate that.” She started to move towards the door, lecture notes and materials now in hand.

Veronica kept pace and followed behind her. “I know you must be like, super busy, and I don’t want to bother you, but I was hoping you might could give me some advice about classes to take, and things like that. I know I’m just going to be a freshman, but I really want to get off on the right foot.”

Harding glanced at her watch. “Well, I have a meeting with a colleague in a few minutes, but why don’t you come on up to my office and we can talk for a bit? Are you primarily interested in adolescent psychology?” 

Veronica gave a small shrug. “I’m not sure yet. It seems like there’s a lot to study in that area.”

“There certainly is. Many developmental psychologists have focused on the earliest years, which are, of course, critical. But I believe that by creating an extended adolescence in our society, the social and developmental changes of that time period are becoming increasingly important for long-term mental health.” Professor Harding groaned as she unlocked her door. “I’m sorry, dear, you’ve gotten me on one of my pet topics. I’ll rattle on for hours and bore you to death. Come on in and I’ll see if I can give you some more practical advice on classes you might want to take next year.”

Veronica glanced across the doorway to the closed door of Professor Wilson’s office and followed Harding inside. She sat down her bag and scanned the room for somewhere to plant another bug. The desk was overflowing with papers stacked haphazardly in piles, and more boxes sat around the room. One wall housed a floor to ceiling book shelf packed with reference materials and texts. Given the dust that lingered, many of them hadn’t been touched in years. 

Professor Harding noticed her attention and laughed. “Ah yes, as you can see, I’m what Freud would call anal expulsive. But, I can usually find things when I want to, and I know I have a sheet of the department classes offered next year somewhere . . .” she trailed off as she began to rifle through a filing cabinet.

Veronica slipped the bug from her pocket and wandered over to the book shelf, pretending interest as she slipped past the titles and secured the bug in the corner of one of the shelves where it was virtually unnoticeable. Satisfied, she turned around just as Professor Harding produced a wrinkled sheet of paper from the file. 

“Here it is. Now, if you are interested in adolescent psychology, I would recommend this class.” Veronica nodded and listened as the Professor made notes and outlined several options on courses. She pointed to a class description halfway down the page that listed Wilson as the instructor. 

“What about this class with Professor Wilson? Is he a good instructor?”

“He’s a very bright young member of our faculty, and not hard on the eyes either,” Harding winked. “But you’d have to have these two prerequisites since that’s an upper-level class, so . . .” She glanced down and tapped at her watch before jumping up suddenly. “Oh dear, I’m sorry to have to run like this, but I’m going to be late for my meeting if I don’t dash.”

Veronica stood and accepted the paper with the recommendations. “Not at all, and thank you again for taking the time. I really appreciate it.”

Harding followed Veronica to the door and stepped into the hallway. “Certainly dear, and stop by next semester when you’re here, alright?” 

“I will!” Veronica watched as Harding pulled her door shut and bustled down the hallway. Not what she’d expected at all. Harding didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d set out to deliberately sabotage a colleague. Veronica hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. But then again, if there was one thing the detective business taught you, it was to never take anyone at face value.

She headed off for her advisor appointment.

* * *

“So are you ready for dinner, roomie?” Katy was bouncing with excitement as she frosted her lips for the fifth time. 

“Almost, roomie,” Veronica responded brightly. “Just need to slit my wrists,” she muttered under her breath. 

“So I heard Wallace mention that he’d be at dinner tonight. He’s such a cutie. Are you sure you guys never hooked up?” Katy asked as they walked into the dining hall.

“No, but our parents did. So Wallace decided it would be too incestuous and resisted my advances,” Veronica replied.

“Oh.” Katy looked slightly confused. “Huh, that would be weird. Well, do you think he might be interested?” she bounced back quickly.

“Interested?” Veronica asked.

“In me. Or maybe one of his friends? I mean, I do plan on trying out for the cheerleading squad, so it just makes sense to date one of the basketball players, right?”

“Sounds perfectly logical to me.” Veronica waved at Wallace from across the cafeteria and negotiated through the crowded tables. She pulled him to the side, “Katy’s got the hots for you. And/or one of your teammates. She’s easy like that.”

Wallace smirked. “Told you this would get me some lovin’.” He pointed to his practice jersey. “Women can’t resist a man in uniform.”

“Whatever, Kobe. Just, you know, distract her with your manliness of something and let me catch my breath.” Veronica placed her tray on the table and watched as Katy happily settled between two of Wallace’s teammates. 

“So what’s up for tonight?” Wallace asked.

Veronica shrugged, “I need to do a little investigating, but otherwise, I’m free. You think you can work me into your dance card, Fennell?”

“You’re already working a case here? Girl, you move fast.”

She waved a hand. “Total coincidence. Nothing big. Now tell me what’s the haps for tonight?”

“There’s a band on the lawn at Whitmore and the whole dorm will be partying. They do it for every orientation weekend.”

“Well, sign me up,” Veronica replied. “I just need to go do that thing. Can you do me a favor and keep Katy dear over there occupied for a while?”

“No problem. That’s the kind of favor I don’t mind.”

* * *

Veronica slipped out of Davies Hall a few hours later and pulled out her cell phone. She hit the button and waited as a muffled voice answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, dad.”

“How’s my favorite college girl?”

“I am now fully oriented to the cornerstones of a solid Hearst education,” Veronica intoned. “Though I still have another day to go, so I maybe re-oriented before it’s all over. Are you at the Seventh Veil?”

His voice grew more distinct. “I just stepped outside. I think Mr. Jenkins may have already moved on to Lolly from Coco.”

“Do I even want to know where that name comes from?” Veronica shuddered.

“We’ll just say she works it into her stage act and leave it at that. How’s your case coming?”

“That’s actually why I called, to give you an update about Harding.”

“Find anything?” he asked.

“I just spent an hour going through her office and so far, nothing. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack though; her office is a wreck, piles of paper everywhere. And I thought your filing system was bad.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so,” she replied. “No, I talked with her after the scheduled lecture, asked her for advice on classes – she was really helpful. I even asked her about Wilson, and she didn’t say anything negative, called him a bright young man.” She shifted the phone to the other side as she fumbled to find her keys in her bag. “I’m going to check the camera bug later and see if there’s any video that will shed some light. I’ll call you if I get a lead.”

“You do that. And don’t forget to try to have some fun too, Veronica.”

“I’m already down for the limbo and a hall crawl on the fifth floor tonight. Talk with you later, Dad.”

* * *

“Veronica!” She heard a voice yell from the steps and she smiled as Wallace jumped from the stairs. 

“Girl, you have got to stop disappearing like that. You’re supposed to be here, getting jiggy with it.” He pulled her in a quick twirl.

“Fennel, I do believe you’ve had one too many if you’re quoting me the immortal Will Smith,” Veronica laughed as she complied with his dance moves.

“You wanna come with? We’re going to Time-Out right off campus. Best greasy spoon open late that you can walk to.”

“Now that is a ringing endorsement.” Veronica shrugged as she glanced around at the crowd of freshman shimmying to the cover band. “You know, I’m kind of beat though. Mind if I take a rain check for this fall?” She gestured over his shoulder, “You and Katy have fun there, though.”

She gave a quick wave as Katy made a flying leap at Wallace and enveloped him, and made her way up the stairs towards her room on the nearly deserted hallway, still preoccupied with the lack of progress on the case. Maybe the video footage would shed some light, but so far everything seemed to point to Wilson being overly paranoid.

She opened the lock on her door and fumbled for the light switch just as a muffled umph sounded from the open window. She grabbed her tazer from her bag and fired it up as she found the switch and flooded the room with light, revealing Logan Echolls sprawled across her floor.

“Logan? What are you doing? This is the second floor!”

He shrugged. “Told you I’d come by. Besides, dangerous townies don’t use the front door.”

She rolled her eyes as she helped him up to sit on the bed, gingerly flexing one banged-up knee. 

“Do I even want to know how you found out my room number?” She caught his smirk and shook her head. “Never mind. Don’t tell me.”

“What? Jealous someone else has detective skills, Mars?” he asked, pulling her down onto his lap. 

“Nope.” She sighed and relaxed against him. She’d felt so disconnected all day, almost on information overload and it was nice to push it aside for the familiar feeling of his heart beating against her cheek. “You okay?”

“I am now,” he replied. “Veronica? About yesterday at lunch? I’m sorry I left that way.”

“Let’s not worry about it, Logan. You’re here now. I missed you.” She leaned up to kiss him and felt his resistance melt away as she pushed him further back on the bed.

“I missed you too,” he murmured against her lips. She gave him a final smooch and jumped up, heading for the door. 

“Hey,” Logan sat back up. “Where are you going?” 

Veronica turned the door lock and flipped off the light switch. “I think this straight A honors student needs some lessons from the bad boy townie.”

* * *

Logan’s persuasive tutelage caused Veronica to lose track of time until the jarring sound of a key in the door lock sent them both scrambling for clothes that had been discarded over the course of their make-out session. Veronica had just managed to get her bra fastened and grab Logan’s shirt when the light clicked on, leaving Logan sitting shirtless behind her.

“Damn, Ronnie finds the hottest guys!” Katy giggled as she ogled Logan’s chest.

Wallace stopped dead behind her and covered his eyes. “Gah! I did not need to see that, Mars.”

“Looking good, Veronica,” called one of the guys from the group behind Wallace.

Veronica buried her head in the shirt as Wallace pulled Katy back and the door shut as abruptly as it had opened, with a quick yell for them to put some clothes on. Logan was shaking with laughter behind her. 

She turned and threw his shirt at him as she struggled back into hers. “Oh, yeah, like that’s funny, Logan. I was sort of hoping to start over here without the reputation of the town tramp.”

He caught her arms and stilled her movements. “Veronica? Stop it. Nobody’s going to think you’re the town tramp for making out with your boyfriend.” He pulled her to her feet as Wallace’s voice sounded through the door. “Are you decent yet?”

“Come in,” Veronica replied. She grabbed her messenger bag and Logan’s hand. “Sorry about that,” she announced as Katy and the others filed back in. “We’ve got to go out for a while. See ya.”

She drug Logan past the group and down the rear stairs. “Where are we going, Veronica?” he asked.

She ran her hand through her hair, trying to straighten it. “You need to go home, Logan, it’s late. And I need to check something for a case.”

He kept pace with her and steered her in the direction of the parking lot and his SUV. “So I’ll help.”

“Logan . . .”

He opened the door. “Just get in.”

She slid into the seat and pulled her laptop out of her bag, booting it up as he closed the door on the driver’s side. “So what are we looking for?”

She yawned. “I just need to check some surveillance feeds, but I didn’t want to do it with an audience.” She began to run the footage that showed Wilson leaving the building for the day, then Harding coming out of her office into the hallway a few minutes later. She fast forwarded as the hallway remained mostly deserted until around 11:00 p.m, illuminated only by safety lights that cast an eerie glow over the hallway. 

Logan leaned over, “Who’s that?”

“That’s Professor Harding,” Veronica replied. “And Wilson was right, she is breaking into his office.”

The image showed Harding looking back and forth down the hallway, then using a key, quietly easing Wilson’s door open. A few minutes later she came back out carrying a paper file box and passed under the camera.

“She must have taken it into her office,” Veronica said. The hallway remained clear for another thirty minutes as Veronica again scanned the video. Harding reappeared at nearly a quarter to twelve and locked Wilson’s door back before disappearing down the hallway carrying a single file folder.

“She must have left it in her office!” Veronica exclaimed. “Logan, I need to go back over there.”

He shrugged. “Okay. Can I even ask what’s going on?”

“This guy thinks someone’s trying to steal some research. I’m just investigating.”

“And breaking into professors’ offices?” Logan laughed. “I don’t know, Veronica, I might be a little more worried about that reputation than tarnishing your good name with me.” 

“Just drive,” she responded.

The parking lot behind Davies was deserted and Veronica used her new campus card to access the building. They climbed the stairs quietly and Logan held the flashlight as Veronica quickly picked the lock. 

The disarray was still evident, but the box was nowhere to be found until Veronica glanced beneath the desk. Tucked under the far corner sat a file box labeled _Greater Neptune Psychological Assessment of Females Ages 12-15. Box 15 – East Neptune Middle School - Wilson_. 

“That what you’re looking for?” Logan whispered. 

Veronica nodded as she slid out the box and pulled open the cover. She lifted a few files out and flipped through them. Each folder was labeled with a girl’s name and pertinent biographical information, followed by page after page of notes detailing answers to questionnaires and behavioral observations.

She slid the folders back in place and flipped casually through until a name caught her eye. Marisol Reyes. 

She pulled the file, motioning for Logan to hold the flashlight closer. “That’s the girl, the one who turned up dead?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Veronica replied as she scanned the pages. A single page was attached to the back of the folder indicating that the subject had been the victim of a murder after being kidnapped. She flipped through the files again, noting the number of Hispanic names. She glanced at the cover of the box again. East Neptune Middle School. The middle school for the ’02 zip code, the one Weevil’s neighborhood attended. The one all of the missing girls had gone to.

She dove back into the box. There it was. A file on Rosa Ramirez. She rifled further. And one on Tracy Gonzales. She pulled them out. “Logan, I’ve got to photocopy these.”

“You sure?” 

She nodded. “They’re files on the girls who went missing. There could be something in here that could help find Rosa.”

“Let’s find a copier.” 

Veronica grabbed the box and Logan pulled Professor Harding’s door shut as they headed back into the darkened hallway. “I think there was a copy machine on the next floor,” she whispered. 

The machine stood in the corner by the stairwell, the blinking coin feeder a silent sentinel to its side. “You have change?” Logan asked.

Veronica pawed through her bag. “No. You?”

“There’s some in the Xterra. Give me your card and wait here.”

Veronica rifled through the box as she waited for Logan to return. Wilson must have interviewed all the girls in that grade for his study. There had to be some connection. 

Fifteen minutes later they’d copied the relevant files and Veronica was sliding them back into the box in Harding’s office when a muffled noise at the end of the hallway caused them both to freeze. 

“Wait here,” she mouthed as she slipped over to the door and listened to footsteps echo in the hallway, then die away again. She gave a quick nod and slowly slid open the door as Logan followed behind.

They made their way down the rear stairs without detection and slipped out into the night.

“So you got what you need?” he asked.

She nodded. “Thanks, Logan, for tonight.”

“Anytime, Veronica.” He pulled her close and whispered, “Want to ditch this scene and come home with me? I’ve got a lot of empty room in my bed. Maybe you could teach me some lessons?”

She wavered for just a moment, before she shook her head. “I’d better go back, Logan, there’s stuff in the morning and . . .”

“Yeah, I know.” He was quiet as he released her with a kiss to her hair and circled to the driver’s side. “There always is.”

* * *

“Hey, dad,” Veronica said, her voice low as she sat on the fire escape outside her window.

“You alright?” Keith asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a late night,” she replied.

“Too much limbo?”

Veronica chuckled, “I’m not that flexible. No, Harding broke in and removed a box from Wilson’s office last night. We’ve got video.”

“Great, that was fast work.” 

“Yeah, I just set the bugs and . . .” Veronica trailed off. “Dad, I forgot to get the bug in her office. I’ll go back this morning, no one will be there.”

“Be careful, Veronica. Are you sure everything’s okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just not enough sleep last night. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Veronica slid back through the window and pulled out her schedule. Breakfast, something about the athletic boosters Wallace was insisting she go to, an interest session for the campus newspaper, and then she could pronounce herself officially prepared to be a freshman at Hearst. She glanced at her phone and noticed a text from Wallace asking her to meet him for lunch before she left. She sent a quick affirmative back and grabbed for her shower supplies. If she hurried, she could swing by Davies and get the bug she’d forgotten before breakfast.

Before she could slip out the door to the shower, Katy rolled over and sat up. “Ronnie? Why didn’t you tell me you were dating such a hot guy?”

Veronica turned. “Oh, it just didn’t come up.” 

“I’m so sorry about walking in on you,” Katy giggled. “We should have had a code.”

Veronica sighed. “Everybody wants a code. It’s not a problem, Katy. I’m just going to take a shower.”

“Oh, I’ll come with.” Katy bounced out of bed and grabbed her bag, padding after her down the hallway. “Veronica, you are just the coolest – hot boyfriend, friends with the basketball team. We should totally be roommates this fall. And is he really Aaron Echoll’s son? That was so tragic the way he died . . .”

Veronica groaned as the shower finally drowned out the sound of Katy’s voice.

* * *

With a hearty send-off from Nick and Jessica, the last meeting ended and they checked out of the dorm. Katy bounced off to join her waiting parents after insisting that they exchange emails and numbers so they could find each other in the fall. Veronica slung her bag back in the trunk and glanced at her phone. She still had time to go get the bug before she met Wallace for lunch.

She headed back to Davies and circled to the rear entrance where two cars sat parked. Entering, she eased up the steps to the third floor, where she could hear angry voices muffled by the door of Harding’s office.

She ducked back down a flight of stars and found the ladies room, locking herself in a stall. She turned on her laptop and found the frequency for the bug in Harding’s office to listen in.

“I can’t believe you did this Nora. Breaking into my office!” Wilson’s voice trembled with suppressed rage. “Are you that threatened by me?”

She laughed. “And I can’t believe you were foolish enough to hire a private investigator. You foolish man, don’t you know what you’re risking when you get some damn P.I. sticking their nose in here?” Harding paused. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt last spring. Your father might have the money to make Serafina Guerrero disappear, but if word gets out about you and that girl, one of the children in your study,” she spat, “you’ll going to hurt this entire department and I won’t let that happen.” 

“They couldn’t prove anything, and neither can you,” he hissed.

Harding’s voice grew louder, “Then what are these?” There was a rustling sound of papers being shuffled, before she spoke again. “Photographs. Letters. She might have been quite the little Lolita to your Humbert, but she was fourteen, Tyler. Fourteen! What you did was illegal and unethical.”

There was silence for a moment. “The problem is gone. She won’t testify. Her family won’t press charges,” he muttered.

Harding laughed. “I know that, I helped your father work out the details. But what I’m concerned about are these new letters, the ones you’ve been getting from her and hiding in your case files? Not very clever, dear boy. Your research assistant came to me and told me he’d seen them.”

“That little . . .” Wilson exploded before Harding cut him off, her voice hard.

“Don’t even think about firing him. Now listen to me, and listen well. I’ve known your family for years and I helped bring you to Hearst. You have a bright future, Ty. You made a mistake. I sincerely hope it was your only one. Put it in the past and leave it there. Because next time, this won’t be swept under the rug. Now take your files and leave.”

Veronica sat stunned as the speakers relayed the sound of a closing door and the click of a lock. She waited several more minutes before slipping up the stairs to find the deserted hallway. She quickly worked the lock opened and retrieved the listening device, then made her way downstairs to the now empty parking lot with more questions than she had answers for.

She walked slowly across the campus in the bright sunlight trying to process what she’d just heard when Wallace called her name from across the quad and bounded across to join her.

“Hey deep thinker. You don’t have to get that serious for a few more months.” He stopped and gave her a closer look. “Something wrong?”

She shook her head. “Just that case I was working on. Took a turn I didn’t expect.” She pushed her thoughts aside and glanced around. “What? Do I get just Wallace? No posse?”

“Just me,” he replied. “Listen, Veronica, I’m sorry. I know I said we’d hang out, and we didn’t really get a chance too, and that’s partly my fault.”

“It’s okay.” She mock-slugged him on his shoulder. “As long as you’re still my BFF.”

Wallace nodded. “I am.” He slung an arm around her shoulder as they started across campus. “So how did you like it? You have a good time? Aside from Echolls last night, which I am officially blocking.”

She shrugged. “It was fine.”

He stopped and faced her. “You’re not going to try, are you?”

“What are you talking about, Wallace?”

“Hearst. You’ve already written it off, haven’t you? Veronica, I know it's not your dream school, but it can be good if you give it a chance.”

“Wallace, it’s still Neptune,” she replied.

“Yeah, but it’s not Neptune High. You still get to start over here. Be the new and improved V.Mars. Or stay the same old Veronica I know and love. But you’ve got to give people a chance. Don’t assume they’re gonna hate you. You might just be surprised how much you like it.” He gave her a grin. “After all, you do already know the basketball payers, so instant cool points.”

Veronica smiled, “Wallace, thank you. I had almost forgotten why I cut you down from that flag pole.” 

“Hey, ixnay on the flagpole story okay. We’ve all got new reps to make.”

“But it’s such a good story,” she laughed as they headed towards the cafeteria.

* * *

Veronica rolled down the window and turned up the radio as the LeBaron chewed up the miles along the interstate towards home. Wallace was right. She had been fighting the idea of Hearst because of what had happened in the past, and because it wasn’t Stanford. She needed to give it a chance. Even Katy hadn’t been that bad, though Wallace didn’t have any serious competition for best friend status from her.

And she really needed to give Logan more time too. She pulled her phone out and hit the automatic dial. “Dad? Hey, I’ve got some things to talk over with you about the Wilson case, but I need to stop by Logan’s for a few minutes. Are you going home?"

“Yeah, I’m heading out in about a half hour. Don’t be too late.”

“I won’t be. See you soon, Dad.”

* * *

Keith hung up the phone and stared at the file in front of him. He wasn’t getting anywhere on this, he might as well go on home. Veronica had sounded upbeat and he was looking forward to talking about her weekend. He could pick up some takeout, kick back, and try to stop thinking about the files with his ex -wife’s name all over them that he found in his former partner’s hands. 

He made the trip in record time to the apartment, and had just settled in front of the television with a cold beer and a plate of burritos when the door bell rang. Sighing, he sat the plate on top of the television and headed for the door. 

“Did you forget your key, Ver . . .” He stopped dead at he stared at the woman standing in the doorway. 

“Lianne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up tomorrow! Thanks for reading!


	9. Treasons of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [kantayra](http://kantayra.livejournal.com/)  
> Her notes: Major thanks to truemyth for her help with plot, dialogue, characterization, massive beta work, and the use of the OC from her chapter. Thanks also to ladyanne04, ladydisdain225, and lex_83 for all their invaluable beta suggestions.

Veronica broke away from Logan with a gasp. “I told my dad,” she managed to get out between the kisses being placed across the line of her jaw, “that I was,” a love bite against her pulse point, “just ‘stopping by’ and – oh god!” Logan’s hand was inching up her side under her blouse, and if she didn’t stop things _now_ … “I can’t be late.”

A mumble against her throat, and then his tongue was _doing things_ , and…

“Seriously, Logan,” she sighed, reluctantly pushing at his shoulders where they’d toppled to the couch within mere minutes of her arrival.

He gave a final humph of frustration before he rolled to the side, allowing her much needed access to oxygen and control again. Really, the summer months were grossly unfair. Warm, long, sunny days meant Logan in nothing more than t-shirts and board shorts, and that was far too much muscular boyflesh for any straight female to resist.

“Mmm,” she murmured, fingers still lightly brushing one bicep.

He leaned in again, a predatory gleam in his eyes, and she remembered why she’d made him stop in the first place.

“Right!” She pulled away quickly, letting out a deep breath and diffusing as much of her unfulfilled lust as she could manage. “Home. Dad. Gun.”

Logan sprawled against the back of the couch in a way that looked horribly uncomfortable and glanced at the clock. “It’s only 8:30. Your dad’s let you stay out _way_ later than this.”

“Not without my supper,” she countered lightly, getting up and heading over to the bathroom to make sure she didn’t look as pleasantly debauched as she felt.

“I may not have twenty-four/seven room service any more,” Logan followed after her and lounged against the door while he watched her wash away the remains of her lipstick, “but there’s still this thing called ‘delivery’.”

“There’s also this thing called ‘grounded’ and my dad’s been in a strange mood lately.” Veronica finished touching up her lipstick and gave him a coy smile. “But I just _might_ be able to spend the day tomorrow…”

“Oh?” Raised eyebrows had never looked so hopeful.

Ah, well. It wasn’t like lipstick mattered that much, really… She got up on her tiptoes, slipped her hands up and through chaotic spikes, and stole a long, languid kiss. A thrill shivered up and down her spine as their tongues met and tangled, and then with a gasp she pulled away again.

“ _Oh_ ,” Logan agreed with a conspiratorial little smile.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Because, honestly, what could happen in the next few hours to derail her ‘spend more time with Logan’ plan?

* * *

“Oh no,” Lianne shook her head and laughed, her voice sounding brittle and cracked. Clearly, she was more than a little bit tipsy.

Keith counted to ten very slowly in his head but didn’t move to let her inside. “What are you doing here, Lianne?”

“Veronica…” A moment of fuzziness, and Lianne’s eyes seemed to snap back into focus. She’d gotten good at that over the years: seeming sober, even while intoxicated. Keith had no doubt that she’d only faltered even for that moment because she hadn’t been expecting him. “I need to see Veronica.”

“She’s not here.” Coming to a calculated decision, he held the door open for her. “You’re welcome to wait.”

“Where is she?” Lianne didn’t move to come in. She did cast a skittish glance around the apartment, however.

“Out.” His tone made it all too clear that their daughter’s day-to-day life was no longer Lianne’s business. She’d made that choice repeatedly, long ago.

“I-I need to find her.” Lianne pressed one palm to her forehead, rubbing at it like she had a headache. Or, more likely, a hangover. “There’s… Frank said…”

“Frank is dead, Lianne,” Keith informed her. It was always hit-or-miss whether Lianne knew even basic things like that. “I was almost dead, too. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Lianne’s eyes were suddenly sharp and very cold. “They shouldn’t have come after you,” she insisted. “And Veronica needs to know to stay away…”

“Away from who?” Keith demanded, catching her shoulders and holding her gaze while she was still lucid. “I saw those papers. I know you got Frank caught up in this somehow.”

Lianne let out an incredulous laugh. “Me? The money…”

“Yeah, the money. From what I saw, it looked like you were laundering through Frank. And, god help me, Lianne, if you’ve gotten our family—”

“Oh, Keith.” She shook her head, looking angry and amused all at the same time. “You still don’t get it, do you? That money didn’t come from me. It came from _Frank_.”

Keith froze for a moment, taken by the outraged conviction on Lianne’s face. “What on earth is going on?” he finally demanded.

“I needed the money,” she insisted, brushing his hands off. “And Frank needed somewhere to keep it where they wouldn’t look.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

Lianne took a step back. “It’s over now, anyway. They know you’re not involved, and they won’t come after you again, unless Veronica…”

“Unless Veronica what? Lianne, don’t play around with me,” Keith’s voice turned dangerous. “Not on this.”

“I… I’ve got to go.” Lianne suddenly turned for the gate. “This was a mistake…never should’ve come…”

“Lianne, wait!” Keith got to parking lot, following Lianne’s increasingly incoherent mutterings, before his cell phone suddenly went off. He swore as he registered the name of the LED screen and, after a long pause of indecision, finally answered the phone. “What now?” he demanded.

“Geez! Bite my head off, why don’t you?” He could practically hear the eye roll at the other end. “They have pills for stress, you know.”

A deeply impatient sigh. He really did _not_ want to deal with Kendall Casablancas this evening. It was just the sort of disaster he needed on top of Lianne’s visit. “What do you want?”

“Uh…what do you know about illegal surveillance? And invasion of privacy lawsuits?”

“Why?” He was suddenly feeling very tired.

“You know that favor you owe me?”

“ _I_ owe _you_?” he repeated in disbelief.

“Please! Like I didn’t overpay you for the—”

“What is it?” he just sighed. Arguing with this woman had to be hazardous to one’s health.

“Find out who’s responsible for this stupid lawsuit and…”

In the back of his mind, beyond the headache, a plan was forming. “I’ll get right on that tomorrow.”

* * *

“Are you sure you’re, like, _legal_?” Kendall gave Veronica a skeptical look.

“Because that’s stopped you so much in the past.” Veronica couldn’t stop herself from glaring at Logan at that.

He stared pointedly down at the blacktop pavement of the resort parking lot, hands in pockets, looking surly in that way that only teenage boys could. “Why are we _here_ again?” he grumbled.

“Why are _you_ here again?” Kendall was still eyeing Veronica like something particularly nasty she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.

“Because Mars Investigations aims to please,” Veronica offered with false cheer, stepping pointedly on Logan’s foot.

“Ouch!” he complained, completely missing the point of subtlety, as usual.

Kendall rolled her eyes, all but slapped Veronica in the chest with the file folder she’d brought, and then without bothering to check whether Veronica had even caught it, stalked past them over to the side door, heels clicking sharply on the pavement. A beat, and then, “So, are you coming or what?”

Inside, the corridor was a steamy, due to – if the sign on the door to their right was any indication – the sauna.

“So, right,” Kendall began, marching straight past the first bend in the hallway where the arrow on the sign clearly marked ‘pool’. “Before Big Dick lived up to his name and ran out without leaving me a penny, he decided – for heaven only knows what reason – to get into the _legitimate_ resort business.” She came to a sudden halt and turned to see Veronica looking very annoyed and Logan looking very bored. “You following so far?”

“Given the fact that we’re not still out in the parking lot?” Logan offered cheekily.

Kendall gave him a thoroughly insincere smile. “You’re just so cute.”

Veronica coughed pointedly. Just great. Not only had her plans for a nice, long day at Logan’s beach house been thwarted, but instead she had to put up with Logan’s _ex_. Her only consolation was that he seemed to be hating this just as much as she was. Although, really, that kind of defeated the purpose of spending time together…

Clearly, her father was out to get her. There was no other explanation for why he would’ve thrust this assignment on her this morning, when her plans had been so very happy. Of course, happy plans were probably what Keith was worried about in the first place.

“Right. Fancy resort. Heart-shaped door knockers.” Veronica scrunched up her face at that. “Someone’s taking naughty pictures of the clientele and selling them to the tabloids.”

“Right,” Kendall was strutting off again, hair tossed back over one shoulder. “So, after the first time—”

“With Senator Cartwright?” Logan’s face scrunched up in distaste at the picture on the cover of the first magazine Kendall had handed Veronica. “Clearly, this shutterbug must be stopped. For the sake of all our eyes…”

“Thank you!” Kendall agreed, like Logan’s pronouncement was the most brilliant thing she’d ever heard.

Veronica thought strangling Kendall might be an even _more_ brilliant idea.

“So, I had our managers or whatever fire the entire staff,” Kendall concluded.

“Why spare dozens, when you only need to persecute one?” Veronica asked snidely.

“Exactly! Senator Cartwright was appeased…or, at least, had bigger things to worry about. Although not,” Kendall added thoughtfully, “anything down below.” She shook her head as if that could _possibly_ wipe away the image of the picture Veronica had just turned to.

Veronica felt a certain kinship with Kendall then, something she’d never felt before…

“I figured it was over and done with,” Kendall went on. “That is, until the same thing happened to Melvin Saunders last week. It seems big businessmen _do_ like them bigger…and underaged, to boot.”

Veronica didn’t look at the second magazine; she’d learned her lesson well.

“So, that means this little creep is still working here,” Kendall concluded.

“I’m sure all those people you fired were _so_ glad to get their jobs back.” Veronica’s voice dripped sarcasm.

“Huh?” Kendall proceeded to completely miss the point.

Veronica just shook her head. “Did you keep _anyone_ on from—?”

“Yeah, our managers? Keep up!” Kendall snapped. “Nick and Lisa Donaldson have been in, like, Hawaii or something for the last month. So, have at your only suspect…” She came to a sudden stop before a pair of glass doors. On the other side was a high-ceilinged, white marble room that was clearly the entrance hall. “Their son, Mike. Get me the proof, get his ass sued and _not_ mine, and then your daddy and I can call it even. Capisce?” Kendall gave Veronica a toothy, insincere smile.

“Because you can’t afford it or anything,” Veronica commented sullenly.

“I have a _fixed_ net-worth here,” Kendall insisted. “So unless my _other_ stepson finally realizes that he lives up to the ‘Little’ Dick part of _his_ name and decides to go skydiving off a skyscraper…” She actually had the nerve to look at Logan in a hopeful manner.

“Not while there’s still booze to be drunk and cheap sorority girls to be debauched.” Logan said it like it was an adage; with Dick, it probably was.

“ _I_ don’t have any money to waste,” Kendall concluded, hands on hips, staring right at Veronica in a thoroughly unnerving way.

Veronica sighed and looked over to the reception desk where a cute, tanned guy with sandy blond hair was smiling at a young couple and taking their credit card. Veronica froze for a moment, then blinked. “Hey… I know that guy!”

Kendall rolled her eyes. “Why am I _not_ surprised?”

Veronica just sighed. “OK, so here’s the plan…”

* * *

“Hello?” Kendall snapped her fingers inches from Mike’s face. It was _one_ way to get someone’s attention.

Mike looked up in surprise, then fumbled the registry book in front of him when he recognized Kendall. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Look, I don’t care, all right?” Kendall rolled her eyes. She gestured with long blood-red nails to Veronica. “This is my…er,” she gave Veronica a distasteful look up and down, “ _cousin_ ,” she finally spit out like the word caused her physical pain, “and her surprisingly hot boyfriend.” The frown turned to a smile as she looked over Logan. “He’s totally rich and famous. Logan Echolls? Maybe you’ve heard of him?” Kendall’s eyes focused on a particular portion of Logan’s anatomy as she identified him as A Potential Target to their prime suspect.

Veronica felt the sudden, irrational urge for a catfight. It was instinctive, really. Kendall’s eyes simply _had_ to be clawed out for looking at Logan like that. Unfortunately, human society didn’t allow for such brutal and necessary tactics. And maybe, given the size of Kendall’s nails, that wasn’t so unfortunate, after all.

So Veronica did the next best thing and promptly wrapped her body all around Logan and kissed him like the world was ending. Long, deep strokes of her tongue into that hot mouth, fingers tangled hopelessly in his hair, bodies pressed flush and firm…

Veronica’s move had its intended effect: Kendall looked annoyed, and Mike looked quite convinced that Veronica and Logan were just the type of people who would stop by for a romantic weekend at a resort called – so help her god – The Secret Victoria Retreat and Spa. (The lawsuit from Victoria’s Secret had been decided in Big Dick’s favor long ago, so Kendall obviously didn’t care about that anymore.)

Veronica’s move also had an unintended effect: Logan seemed to have zoned out of this dimension by the time she pulled away, letting out a little whimper when she turned to face Mike.

“Right…” Kendall also turned back to Mike. “They’re staying in Room 115.”

“But…”

Kendall snapped her fingers in front of his face again. “Who owns this place again?” she demanded.

“Your husband?”

Veronica shared a smile with Mike at that.

“Just _do_ it!” Kendall demanded.

Mike nodded, looking like he’d do anything to make Kendall go away. Veronica sympathized with the sentiment.

“Great!” Kendall flashed that plastic smile. “I’ll just go off and get a quick facial from Maria…”

“Alice. You had Maria fired,” Mike pointed out.

“…and a massage from Jose…”

“Roberto.”

“Whatever! They all look the same anyway. You all set here? Good? Good.” Kendall stalked off, muttering to herself about the incompetence of the help.

Mike made a face at her retreating back, before suddenly remembering that Veronica was there and, supposedly, Kendall’s cousin. He coughed to try to cover the gaff and typed some information into his computer. “Veronica…?”

Veronica sighed. An alias was an alias. Just her luck she got to lie to the random guy whose dog her dog played with on the weekends. “Shifflet,” she smiled.

“Right.” Mike typed in a few more keys. “And Logan Echolls.”

He remembered that name easily enough. Logan raised his eyebrows, having apparently recovered from her recent sexual assault on his person. She just shook her head. He frowned at that before leaning up against the front desk.

“So…you and Veronica know each other?”

Oh great. She’d just accidentally engaged Logan’s jealous streak. “Not really,” she reassured him. “More like Back-Up and Mutt know each other.”

“You must be the boyfriend Veronica told me about,” Mike commented affably. Logan’s eyes narrowed as his reasons to hate Mike were slowly whittled away. Men. “She didn’t mention you were this hot, though.” He gave Logan a secretive little smile.

 _That_ certainly clamped down on any of Logan’s concerns. He accepted their keycard with a mischievous grin and a wink.

Veronica would’ve praised Mike on his clever diversionary tactic if she hadn’t caught him checking out Logan’s ass as he turned away from the counter. She amended her assessment to ‘bi’ and ‘shameless flirt’ and then followed that lovely ass down the hall to the room where Melvin Saunders had been staying the previous week, before his ass had made nationwide tabloid covers.

“Don’t strut too much,” Veronica teased as she slipped into step beside Logan. “I’m not sure I’m quite up for a threesome with your new boyfriend.”

Logan took her teasing with good humor. “Too bad he’s into naughty pictures. Although we could totally work that into our threesome…”

Veronica blushed and batted at his shoulder with her knuckles.

Logan fixed her with a wicked smile. “Don’t tell me you’d actually think about…”

Veronica’s blush deepened.

His eyebrows rose an inch in response.

“What?” Veronica demanded. “He’s hot!”

Logan came to a sudden stop in the hallway and gave her the world’s most unimpressed look. “Hot?”

She shrugged.

“Other men are not allowed to be ‘hot’ in my presence. It’s, like, a rule or something.”

Smiling more than a bit evilly, Veronica crossed her arms over her chest. “Does that mean you’re not allowed to think other women are hot in _my_ presence?” she demanded. “Because I seem to remember someone holding the popcorn bowl suspiciously over their lap all throughout _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_ …”

“Angelina Jolie is an exception,” he insisted breezily, walking past her and down the hall where Mike had indicated.

“Oh?”

“Angelina Jolie _is_ hot. Scientific fact.” He came to a stop before room 115. “You know you think so, too.”

Veronica tried to grumble under her breath, but really there was no arguing with that. “Fine, she’s hot!” she finally exclaimed in frustration at Logan’s smug look. She snatched the keycard from his hand, opened the door, and quickly scanned the room. “Oh, my _god_!”

“So, if you can find a guy that _I_ agree is hot too, then—” Logan froze in mid-sentence as he entered the room behind her and beheld the monstrosity before their eyes. “What the fuck?”

That was probably a better assessment of the situation. Veronica blinked a few times to fight the red and pink glare on her retinas and then opened her eyes to discover that, ye gods, it really _was_ that bad. The wallpaper was a pale pink with bright red hearts and little cupids forming regular patterns across the walls. The carpet was a deep plush purple, and the bed… Dear god, the bed was actually shaped like a giant _heart_. Complete with heart-shaped pillows. The black-and-white photos she’d seen earlier simply hadn’t done the place ‘justice’…which was probably a good thing.

“My parents have risen from the dead and are designing bordellos,” Logan whispered in disbelief behind her.

Veronica snorted at that; it couldn’t be far from the truth. She pulled Logan into the room by the lapels of his shirt, kicked the door closed, and then whispered right against his ear. “It’s possible the camera was planted in the room.” And then, more loudly, “Oh my god, honey! Isn’t this just _perfect_?” The squeal at the end of it hurt even _her_ ears.

“Let’s look around, shnookums!” he retorted in a horribly gleeful fake falsetto.

“Sounds fun!” Her teeth hurt from smiling too much.

Logan mouthed ‘I’ll kill you for this.’ She wouldn’t entirely blame him if he did.

By circling the room and exclaiming at all the horribly ‘adorable’ romance-themed knick-knacks, she was able to use the bug detector in her bag to scan the room. The bathroom was clear, as were the closets, and…

“Mmph!”

…She was promptly assaulted at the end of her circuit of the bedroom onto the very large, very ridiculously heart-shaped bed. Not that there was anything wrong with scanning the bed while Logan’s tongue traced her collarbone. In fact, it wasn’t an unpleasant way to work, at all…

Just as his hand was working its way across the flat of her stomach, the receiver light flashed green. So the room itself was negative for any bugs, which meant:

“We’re clear. Playtime’s over.” She shoved him off playfully.

He grunted in distaste and stared at himself in the large mirror that covered the ceiling over the bed. “You’re _sure_ …” He began hesitantly.

It _did_ feel like they were being watched with their own reflections above them, but standard gear of the PI trade would’ve picked up any electro-magnetic signature of that sort. “No cameras. Just your own pervy eyes,” she assured him.

“So Saunders found himself on Candid Camera some other way…”

Veronica grimaced. “We might have to look at the picture.”

“So help us, god.”

Veronica pulled the magazine from her bag. “On the count of three?”

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three.”

Their noses scrunched up simultaneously.

“Do they give us any bleach for our eyes in this place?” Logan asked lightly.

“No such luck. Just chocolate roses.”

“And they say they can ‘meet your every need’. Right now, I _need_ the bleach.”

Veronica grimaced and glanced around the room. “OK, so that nauseatingly saccharine tile pattern?” She pointed to the background of the first picture.

The background was much easier to look at. “Doesn’t match our bathroom,” Logan agreed.

“So we get to do a little recon.” Veronica gratefully put away the magazine.

“Does this mean we have to make out more?”

“And you thought you wouldn’t like undercover work.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

* * *

“I have located our nauseating tile pattern,” Logan leaned in to brush his lips against her ear.

Veronica managed to focus long enough to follow his gaze toward the area above the hot tub where, indeed, the tiles formed a tessellating pattern of pink and white hearts. “We need to find out if the camera is still there,” she turned into his body and murmured against his chest.

“So do your Inspector Gadget thing…”

“Problem.”

“What?”

“We’re too far away.”

Logan paused for a moment to consider this. “Are you, Veronica Mars, saying that you absolutely, vitally need to go _hot tubbing_ with me for the sake of a case?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled under her breath.

“You just want to hot tub,” he accused with a grin.

“Shut _up_!” She whapped his arm lightly.

“You know, Veronica,” he said, sounding a little annoyed, “I am your boyfriend. It’s OK to admit that you want me.”

Veronica just stepped away from him with a coy smile and pulled off her top. The awed look in his eyes was _completely_ worth it, before he realized that she was wearing her two-piece swimsuit beneath. Although if the smile on his face was any indication, he didn’t mind that part at all if it gave him more bare skin to work with. “I _so_ want to hot tub with you,” she practically purred, yanking at his shirt as she shimmied out of her shorts. She gestured pointedly to the bushes to their right as she kicked her shorts – and the scanner inside the left pocket – over in that direction.

Logan didn’t look like he was about to object, even if it wasn’t the most romantic situation. Or even, really, half as arousing as it should be.

Half-naked bodies, hot frothy water, and both of them only half paying attention to their kisses as they waited for technology to do its deed.

Logan had just begun a particularly whole-hearted exploration of her shoulder with his tongue when she casually reached over, snuck a peek at the scanner, and got a flashing red light for her work.

“We’re on camera,” Veronica informed him, voice low in case there were microphones too.

Logan nodded against her cheek. “Gee, sweetie!” he announced loudly. “This sure is hot! Let’s go back to the room!”

It really wasn’t what either of them had imagined their first hot tub experience together would be like. Veronica gave him a sheepish shrug as she picked up her shorts and searched for the wire that would lead from the camera to the receiver.

Logan’s return shrug told her all too well that he knew by now not to expect anything less strange.

* * *

“OK, _this_ , I draw the line at.”

“I notice you didn’t object when undercover work involved grinding together in a hot tub,” Veronica retorted. Frankly, she was just a little put out. It turned out that the private hot tub room was right next to the manager’s suite where Mike and his parents lived. All that little wire had needed to do was turn to the left, and Veronica would’ve had her proof. But, oh no, it had to go right and make her life complicated.

They’d followed it down the hall, through a vent behind the vending machines, and into the laundry room, where it vanished into a giant bin of very sweaty, very _inappropriately_ used towels. Hence, the current debate.

“You’re the detective,” Logan insisted, arms crossed sullenly. “Why can’t you do it?”

There was no real good answer to that beyond: “Because I’m the girl. And there was this thing called chivalry once? Let’s try to keep it alive and all.”

His eyes narrowed. “We _know_ what’s in there. Why do I even have to look?”

“For all we know, there could be another vent down there. We need to know where—”

“Another vent?” he repeated in disbelief. “Believe me, Veronica, if there were another vent in that nasty towel bin, the whole _building_ would be able to smell it.”

At some point, this had become less of a debate about the merits of whether or not this task _really_ needed to be accomplished, and more about who would win. It was a nasty competitive habit the two of them had. Veronica should really try to break that habit…some day. “You’re never going to get to third base at this rate,” she informed him sweetly.

The glare intensified, but now there was a hunger beneath it.

“You can always shower afterward.” Really, at this point the battle was already won.

There wasn’t another vent in the bin.

Which meant that whoever was behind the surveillance equipment had chosen the _laundry room_ as their safe haven, rather than the nice, private manager’s suite. It certainly gave Veronica something to puzzle as Logan ran for the shower. Mike was their only suspect, yet either Mike was much savvier than they’d anticipated or she was missing something…

* * *

“…If Veronica sees you, she’s _going_ to investigate, Lianne,” Keith’s mumbled voice could just be heard through his office door at Mars Investigations.

“She could be in danger!” It was a woman he was arguing with. Figured.

“Because _you_ put my name on that account!”

“I _fixed_ that!” the woman continued to wail on. And patience was failing fast…

“Yeah, after I got _shot_!”

Well, that was sure fun…

Except for that whole thing where she had a manicure at two.

“Look, sorry to break up your Jerry Springer hour or whatever,” Kendall finally gave up in frustration and barged into Keith’s office. The blonde with him wasn’t even hot. That _also_ figured. “But I don’t have time for the two of you to…” She gestured back and forth between them. “ _Whatever_.”

Keith froze, looking as annoyed as she’d ever seen him.

She brandished the file folder before her. “Here.”

Keith blinked. The woman looked uncomfortable, mumbled something under her breath, and practically fled the office.

“Look, I know you’re short and old and bald and everything, but you can still do better than—”

“Why are you here again?” Keith sounded thoroughly exasperated.

“You wanted the employee files?” Kendall reminded him, sticking the aforementioned item in his direction yet again.

“What?”

“Of everyone I had fired? Hello?”

Keith put his head in his hands, like _she_ was the one wasting _his_ time. “Veronica is in charge of your case.”

A pause. “Yeah, about that. Look, I don’t think—”

“Take. It. To. Veronica,” he managed to yell without really yelling, which was actually a fairly neat trick.

“Sure, fine, like I have nothing better around that to do your busy-work…” She did leave the office, though. Honestly, some _people_!

* * *

“If you’re done in there, we still need to—” Veronica’s train of thought derailed at the station then because Logan was, indeed, done with the shower. However, it seemed that he hadn’t quite gotten to the dressing part yet.

In fact, he was firmly ensconced in the ‘walking about in nothing but an itty-bitty towel while still wet’ phase.

Veronica decided that this, also, was clearly an avenue in need of investigation. Very. Thorough. Investigation.

“Did you get the list of—?” Logan froze when he recognized the almost manic gleam in Veronica’s eyes. “Are you all right?”

“You’re…wet,” she responded, sounding thoroughly idiotic. It didn’t matter then, though. Nothing mattered but: “And… _naked_.” As she watched, one steaming hot drop of water decided to roll on a leisurely path down strong pectoral muscles, firm abs, and then slip under the line of the towel where a dark little trail off hair was leading straight to—

“Veronica?”

His words snapped her out of her fixed stare, and she blushed and quickly turned her gaze back towards the general vicinity of his face.

His expression was downright evil: the smug grin of a bastard who knew he had her right where he wanted her. A part of her probably should have been worried by that predatory smile. Another, larger part of her just wanted the pretty naked boy _now_ , please? “It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen me…” he trailed off, wisely concluding that previous post-shower escapades of theirs didn’t bear mentioning. “The hot tub…” Now, that was a much more pleasant line of thought.

Veronica suddenly found herself inched across the bed until she was right next to him. Not that she minded, in the least. This investigation would definitely require some hands-on work, and…

“Mmm…”

Veronica was pleased to note that her body was responding quite naturally to the sight of a wet, naked Logan and had succeeded in both kissing him and pulling him down onto the bed on top her without her having to even think. Hot planes of skin were discovered fully for the first time as her hands explored his back.

She nuzzled the line of his jaw up into his hair, and then… “Do I smell roses?” she frowned.

“Shut up,” he muttered against her throat.

“No, seriously, Logan. I smell—”

“I didn’t check the shampoo first, OK?” he grumbled.

A snicker. “So now you smell like—”

“What part of ‘shut up’ are you not getting?” His lips covered hers, enforcing the point quite well.

Bodies pressed together once more, and certain floral scents were forgotten. This was so very different from the hot tub. Now, she could take all the time she wanted and actually _enjoy_ the weight of one very attractive – and, oh yes, very aroused – boyfriend while she kissed him senseless and…

“Oh, yuck. Is there something in the water at your house, or what? I’m pretty sure I’m not _paying_ you for this.”

Veronica broke off their kiss with a yelp to discover that, yes, joy of all joys _Kendall Casablancas_ stood in the doorway, looking thoroughly unimpressed and dangling the master key from her fingertips. “Don’t you know how to knock?” she shot back, feeling highly irritable.

Logan immediately darted back into the bathroom, snagging his shirt and pants as he went. A part of Veronica deeply mourned the loss.

“Yeah… Knocking.” Kendall didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “You guys can boink five times a night when my neck _isn’t_ in the noose.”

Veronica couldn’t help but blush at that. She _really_ didn’t need reminders of Logan’s famed prowess from his skanky ex.

“So, right.” Kendall brandished the file folder, take two. “The people I axed. Although, given that they’re, y’know, _fired_ , I don’t know why you care—”

“Oh, go get yourself a manicure or something.” Veronica glared at her.

Kendall opened her mouth to speak, thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Whatever. Looks like the crankiness is hereditary too. But, hey, at least you’ve got better taste than your dad with that Lianne chick…”

“What?” Veronica sat up with a start.

Kendall looked at her like she’d sprouted another head or something. “Leave me out of it.” She held up her hands defensively. “I don’t care _who_ your dad’s secretly meeting.” With a flick of her hair, she stalked out.

Veronica bit her lip and tried to process that last fact, before Logan’s voice came muffled through the bathroom door, “Is she _gone_ yet?”

* * *

“I liked this better when there was less work and more making out,” Logan commented with a sigh an hour later, after his umpteenth attempt to distract Veronica from her task had failed. He was currently lying on his back at the center of their giant, heart-shaped bed. The bed was big enough that, even when he sprawled to the limits of his sprawling abilities, he couldn’t _actually_ knock her off the edge of the bed, but he was giving it his very best. The sprawling part, at least.

Veronica let out a frustrated sigh. “OK, so maybe Kendall’s right. Mike did it. He had to.”

“Great. Kendall can fire him. Mutt can live on the street. I don’t care.”

Veronica glared at him. “You’re not exactly selling the case for why I should be spending time with _you_ , instead…”

“Well, technically, neither are you,” he bit back. Apparently, being denied sex make Logan cranky. Surprise, surprise.

“Look,” she sighed, “I don’t have time for—Hello…”

“Hello?” Logan sounded half-hopeful. Veronica wasn’t even sure anymore whether he wanted to make out or just leave this eyesore.

“What are the odds,” Veronica began slowly, double-checking the resort staff lists, past and present, “of Jose Roberto and Roberto Jose both working at the same place?”

“Wasn’t half our graduating class named Jose Roberto?” Logan retorted.

“And _both_ of them being professional masseuses?”

That got a curious look.

“One replaced the other. Quite the coincidence.”

“Or someone laid off on the lay-offs…”

“Let us have a chat with dear old Mike,” Veronica agreed, snapping her laptop closed. “And, while we’re at it, let’s bring in reinforcements…”

* * *

“You did _what_?” Kendall’s voice reached a pitch that caused Mutt to suddenly howl out to the afternoon sky. She glared at the terrier, then at Mike. “And is this a doggy hotel all of a sudden?”

“No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.” Mike’s face had turned practically white in the face of Kendall’s wrath. Veronica felt sorry for him. But, then again, he had lied to his boss and…

“Ma’am? What am I? Thirty?” Horror crossed Kendall’s features. “Oh god, I do _not_ look thirty…”

“No, ma—uh, Mrs. Casablancas,” Mike hastily amended.

“Thank god for that,” Kendall sighed before turning waspish once more. “Now, tell me why again you kept a tabloid photographer on the staff after I _explicitly_ told you to fire them all?”

“W-Well…” Mike was sweating now, eyes going wild for help.

Logan just raised his eyebrows like he wanted to know the answer too. Jerk. Veronica swatted his behind surreptitiously and gave Mike an encouraging smile.

“I-It was Jose,” Mike insisted. “I mean, we needed a good masseuse still, and—”

“A. Dime. A. Dozen!” Kendall’s foot was tapping impatiently.

“Well, Jose’s dad was sick, and he needed the job so—”

“He was even _more_ likely to blackmail my guests to make more money?” Kendall finished, gum snapping irritably.

Mike’s face flushed. “I didn’t think—”

“No, obviously you _didn’t_ think!” Kendall snapped angrily. “We’re firing that sneaky little pervert right now. And if you don’t get your brother—”

“ _Father_.”

“—Whoever back from wherever the hell they are, right this minute, you’re _all_ fired, and—”

Veronica felt a tug on her wrist and made a little murmur of complaint as Logan pulled her away from the massive hissy fit Kendall was throwing right in the middle of the back deck. It was quite a spectacle to behold, really, although not so new to anyone who had the misfortune to know Kendall.

“So far today you’ve,” Logan ticked off on his fingers when she opened her mouth to protest, “dragged me out to the Secret Hell Resort, made me to spend time with Kendall, forced me to dig through dirty laundry bins, tricked me into smelling like _roses_ —”

“That one was _not_ my f—”

“—bored me with hours of research, and proceeded to get me so very not laid that it’s not even funny anymore,” Logan ploughed right through. “You are not about to add ‘save very _deserving_ victim from harpy’s clutches’ to that list.”

Veronica glared at him, but sighed. She had to admit, it wasn’t exactly a romantic day she would have planned. Although certain parts of it had been nice… “But just think of all the time we got to spend together, honey!” she couldn’t help but tease.

He tried to scowl, but it really came off as more of a smirk. “Just _please_ tell me we’re going to be able to spend the evening alone together?” he practically begged.

Veronica gave him a sheepish expression. “Wallace is getting a break from training tonight, and he wanted a lift…”

Logan let out an overdramatic groan and collapsed into the passenger seat of her car. “We’re going over to my place, then.”

“Can’t. Dad’s keeping me on short reins today. I think he’s up to something.”

A sigh. “Fine, but we’re picking up my PlayStation on the way.”

It was a reasonable compromise.

* * *

“Hey, V-dawg. What up?” Wallace scrunched into the back seat ten minutes later, elbows propped forward on their headrests. “And…Logan? Do you smell like… _roses_?”

The look Logan fixed her with could have cut through solid steel. “I. Hate. You.”

She just smiled cheerfully. An annoyed boyfriend and a best friend who had _clearly_ been drinking too much coffee were both problems enough, of course. But they could nicely bother each other while she thought about more important things.

Like why her dad, normally overprotective in the extreme, would suddenly dump this case right in her lap.

And what on earth it had to do with the fact that, if Kendall’s pedantic rambling was to be trusted, her _mother_ was still in town.

“Oh, at least I don’t smell like the star of Jocks Gone Wild…” Logan was still complaining.

“Boys,” Veronica teased. “Do I have to turn the car around?”

Or maybe the exasperated boyfriend and the hyper best friend were just the distraction she needed at the moment, before she could take proper action on more important matters…

* * *

It had taken less time and effort than it really should have to distract Wallace and Logan. Teenage boys plus video games seemed to be a winning combination. A part of Veronica felt guilty, but an even larger part realized that she would’ve been bored out of her mind watching the two of them ogle Lara Croft’s chest for the next six hours. Really, this was just a convenient time to run this particular errand.

That was her story, anyway, in case either of them found out about it later and gave her _that_ look.

Hand shaking slightly, Veronica turned off the engine of her LeBaron and looked up at the looming façade of the Camelot. Once she’d known what she was looking for, tracking down her mother hadn’t been hard. Although the fact that her mom was going under the false name ‘Leah Kane’ these days had _almost_ been enough to make her cut her loses and run.

“Thanks so much for making me feel welcome, mom…” she muttered under her breath as she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and headed up the stairs to room 223. The balcony held far too many memories and reminded her of the fact that she was blowing off Logan yet _again_ , although at least this time she’d left him to the tender mercies of PlayStation.

The door to 223 was open, and Veronica took a deep breath and looked inside…

“Mom?”

It was still a surprise to see Lianne, even though Veronica had been expecting her. Her mom was thinner than the last time Veronica had seen her, her face drawn and washed out. The frantic motions of her hands as she stuffed clothing in her suitcase just served to make her look more out of it.

Lianne froze when she heard Veronica’s voice and looked up in alarm. “Veronica…?” Her voice seemed to break on the word, and something that looked like genuine joy shone in her eyes for a moment. Then, Lianne turned away and returned to trying to shove her suitcase closed. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said dully.

Veronica stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, and suddenly felt very small. “How long have you been back in town?” she asked, half dreading the answer.

“Months and months… God, has it been since April? It didn’t seem that long…” Lianne sounded distracted and suddenly began rifling through the drawers, searching for something. The missing object in question was apparently a stack of papers because Lianne let out a sigh of relief when she found them and shoved them into the shoulder bag next to the door.

“And you just…what? Didn’t want to see me?” Veronica hated the tremble in her own voice, but she couldn’t fight it.

“Oh, honey…” And suddenly Lianne’s arms were around her, and for one moment Veronica could imagine that everything was all right in the world. That was just an illusion, though, and as attractive as it was, the longer she let herself believe it, the more it would hurt her in the end. The scent of whiskey just proved her caution all the more accurate.

“What are you doing here, mom?” she asked, her voice sounding cooler and more collected as she pulled away. It was the way she’d wanted to sound from the beginning. “And I know you’ve been meeting with dad, so don’t lie to me.”

Lianne’s smile froze at the mention of Keith. “He won’t like that I met you…” She ran a nervous hand through stringy blonde hair. “I was supposed to leave before…” She quickly returned to her packing.

“Before what?” Veronica demanded, fully stepping into the tiny motel room.

“I wasn’t supposed to see you!” Lianne exclaimed, suddenly upset. “Keith said…”

Veronica felt something in her chest clench. Sure, her dad had kept things from her in the past, but…

“I was just trying to do the right thing!” Lianne insisted, slumping down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What’s going on?” Veronica asked softly, suddenly scared that Lianne would run and that none of this would _ever_ make any sense.

“I… I wanted to see you,” Lianne insisted, staring intensely at her hands folded in her lap. “I went… But Keith was there, and he said…” A little broken sound. “I just wanted to protect you, Veronica.”

Veronica bit her lower lip to try to fight back her emotions. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“You’ve got to believe me.” Lianne reached out to touch Veronica’s arm, looking almost afraid that her daughter would flinch away. “But Keith and Frank…” A shiver ran through her body. “It’s all just so messed up.”

“Mom,” Veronica felt her patience snapping, “ _what_ is going on?”

Lianne shook her head. “Not your concern. Just stay out of it. That’s what I wanted to tell you…” Lianne’s fingers tightened to the point of almost pain around Veronica’s wrist. “Promise me, Veronica,” she demanded.

Veronica pulled away suddenly, not caring if the action came off as harsh. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, mom?” she demanded.

“Not me,” Lianne insisted vigorously. “Frank… He and your father were partners, Veronica. You have to understand that. What happened back then…” She trailed off and was suddenly back on her feet again, snatching up her bags. “I have to leave. This was a mistake.”

Veronica stared in disbelief as Lianne made it for the door. “You’re just _leaving_?”

Lianne gave her a cold look. “Do you really want me to stay? What about last time?”

Veronica’s jaw tightened. There really was nothing like remembering that your mother had wasted your entire college fund _twice_ to ruin any lingering nostalgia. “Go,” she finally hissed, sounding venomous even to her own ears.

“Always pushing people away,” was Lianne’s final comment, a twisted smile on her face, as she left once again.

It wasn’t until many tears in the parking lot later that Veronica realized that she’d let her emotions get the better of her, and sacrificed any information her mother could have given her on what was happening in the process. And that simply wasn’t like her at all.

She returned home far too late, to discover that Wallace and Logan were _still_ consuming highly caffeinated beverages and threatening to kick each other’s asses, controllers firmly in hand. Her father had come home in the interval, and Veronica just didn’t feel like facing him at the moment.

Which, of course, meant that she gave him her brightest smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“Long trip to the store,” he quoted back the lame excuse she’d used on Wallace and Logan earlier. The look in his eyes made it all too clear that, if he didn’t know where she’d been, he suspected.

“Got caught up in a magazine,” she answered breezily. She shrugged in that way that told all parents everywhere to back off.

It never worked on Keith.

Except this time, it did.

“So, do you think you can hold the fort for me for a week or so, kiddo?” Keith asked lightly.

Veronica froze from where she’d just grabbed a Skist can from the fridge. “Again?”

“I need to head out of town on business,” he began.

“Oh? Where?” she asked lightly.

“Just a quick drive up to Fresno.”

“Where you used to work.”

“Right. Nothing big. Just take the usual calls and tell any new clients that we’re shut down for a while.” He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and practically fled – because that was what he was doing – into the bedroom.

Veronica stood there for a minute, fingertips tracing the drops of condensation on her Skist can, mind racing. She’d already let her mom get away without giving any answers tonight; hell, like she was making the same mistake with her dad.

“Veronica? You going to stand there all night?” Logan called from the couch. There was a comfy spot right next to him.

With a smile and a shake of her head, she joined her boyfriend. After all, she’d gotten good at pretending nothing was wrong over the years. In the meantime, her mind raced faster than the motorcycles on the TV in front of her.

Whatever was going on had already led to one attempted murder, one actual murder, and had clearly freaked her mom out. Maybe it was time to face the fact that something _big_ was going on, in her own home, and this time her mom wasn’t the only one to blame…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up tomorrow! Thanks for reading!


	10. Here, Pussy, Pussy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Veronica is hit with a cold, Wallace and Logan must fill her PI shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [kantayra](http://kantayra.livejournal.com/)  
> Her notes: Thanks to truemyth and ladyanne04 for their thoughts and beta work on this chapter.

Sharp heels clicked in regular procession down the hallway straight up to the door whose glass plate clearly labeled it as ‘Mars Investigations.’ A slight pause of due deference upon entering foreign territory, and then the heels resumed their trek, strong and confident in their sure steps. Behind her, the door shut softly, almost reverently.

The heels – tall enough that they looked downright painful to walk in, and bright red – led to a pair of immaculately sculpted legs, long, slim, and perfectly muscular. They were the kind of legs that men talked about when they said ‘legs that go on forever,’ guaranteed to induce wolf-whistles among the less well-behaved portions of the male population.

The woman attached to those legs was brunette, poised, and wearing a blue sundress and dark sunglasses that looked simple, but screamed expense to anyone who’d lived in Neptune long enough to grow accustomed to the fashions of the rich and famous. She was also way older than her legs would’ve suggested. The fact that his first impulse had been anything more than PG? Was downright _scary_ , in retrospect.

With a gulp and a shy duck of his head, Wallace offered apologetically, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

The woman removed her sunglasses, folding the earpieces neatly, as round brown eyes met his own. “This is an emergency,” she insisted, voice composed yet anxious all at once. This, clearly, was a woman of class, and something had to be deeply disturbing her to let that nervous tremor slip into her words. “I need to speak to Mr. Mars immediately.” She slipped the sunglasses into a small, black purse and proceeded to readjust the shoulder strap in what had to be a nervous tick.

“I’m sorry. But Mr. Mars is out of town.”

A pause and a gulp. “When will he be back?”

“Not until next week. Sorry.” God, could he possibly apologize more? This was seriously not cool. PIs were supposed to be cool with the attractive women bursting into the office in desperate need of help. True, he wasn’t actually a PI, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had fantasies about this sort of thing on more than one occasion.

The woman worried a dark red lower lip between her teeth. “I was acquainted with a…Veronica Mars?” she finally offered hesitantly. “She assisted a friend of mine in a matter recently. It’s absolutely vital that I speak with someone immediately.”

“Sorry.” God, it was like a compulsion now; the more he thought about how he said ‘sorry’ too much, the more he did it. “Veronica’s out sick. Which is why there’s that whole ‘closed’ sign on the door, and all.”

The woman glanced back, “Oh…I wasn’t looking. I…”

“It’s all right,” he assured her. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” And there he did it again.

The woman nodded slowly, looked torn, and then met his eyes once more. Deep, clear, chocolate eyes that any man could get lost in. “Y-You’re sure _you_ couldn’t help me?” she asked hopefully.

“I’m not really…” he began with a nervous laugh.

The woman approached Veronica’s desk, looking suddenly confident once more. “Normally I’d go to the police,” she promised, “but this is a special emergency. A former client, and I know that Colleen trusted Veronica.”

“I…”

The woman took a seat, clearly in for the long haul. “Colleen – Colleen Sharpe, that is,” she added, as if just realized now that he might need a bit of context, “she’s gone missing, you see, and…” A deep breath. “Her husband’s out of town, but he’ll be back Friday, and if he finds out that she’s gone…” A shudder went through her body.

He froze at that. He’d heard all about Colleen Sharpe and her freaky, controlling husband, listened to Veronica rage over the phone the week after that case. Really, what he should do here was tell Ms…er, whoever, to go to the police. But the look in those eyes, like they needed _him_ …

He took a deep breath and extended his hand. “Wallace Fennell, and I guess I’m taking your case.”

The smile that was bestowed upon him was dazzling in its intensity. “Tallulah Godfrey,” she returned, taking his hand.

He blinked at the name. “Seriously?”

* * *

“You did _what_?” An intense bout of coughing followed that exclamation, and a glass of orange juice was instantly placed in Veronica’s hands. Making mildly distressed wheezing sounds, she took a sip, shoved the glass back into Logan’s waiting hand, and dove for the Kleenex box again.

“She said she needed my help!” Wallace insisted defensively, placing the financial records Veronica had needed to work from home on the end table beside her. “What was I supposed to do?”

“There’s a nice little address book on the desk with plenty of referral numbers,” Veronica offered, lying back on the couch. Her sarcasm just didn’t have the sting in it, though.

“The chick said she knew you. Tallulah something or…”

“Tallulah?” Logan interrupted, looking less than pleased with that revelation. “Godfrey?”

“Unless there’s more than one Tallulah running around town.” Wallace was man enough to admit that he’d forgotten the last name under the first’s preposterous memorability.

Veronica looked resigned. “What did she want?”

“That chick that you were watching last month…” Wallace actually _had_ taken notes, after he’d gotten over his first bout of confusion. He looked at the scribble he’d made on the cover of the top folder he’d been getting for Veronica. “Colleen Sharpe?”

Alarm lit up Veronica’s eyes at that. “What’s happened to her?”

“Tallulah says she’s missing.”

“Where’s dear old John?” Logan’s eyes narrowed.

“The husband… This is the crazy family with the weird plastic surgery, right?” Wallace figured it was best to clear up how serious this was now.

A grim nod from Veronica was his response. That, and a blown nose.

“He’s down in Mexico on business, apparently, but he’s coming back this Friday, and it sounds like if his wife’s not back by then…”

“John Sharpe is _slime_ ,” Veronica agreed. “I can see why Tallulah would be – achoo! – worried.”

“Especially given the extra-curricular activities trophy wives get up to these days,” Logan added with a wicked little smile.

Veronica glared at him. After she and Logan had gotten stuck working with Kendall on Monday, she probably didn’t need the reminder. “I suppose I could—” she began.

“Stay on the couch and sleep?” Logan finished for her sternly.

“I can do it,” she insisted, even though she looked like she was at death’s door.

Logan’s fingers brushed her forehead. “You still have a fever.”

“Who are you, my dad?”

“Well, _someone_ has to take care of you while he’s gone. Since your instinctive reaction to running a temperature of 102 is to rush off to the office.”

“I let Wallace pick up the files!”

“After I made you.”

Wallace was developing whiplash from watching them fight like this. Thankfully, in Veronica’s weakened state, she gave up a _lot_ easier than she would otherwise.

Veronica groaned and closed her eyes.

“I can handle it,” Wallace took the break in the verbal volleys to chime in. “I’ve helped you with plenty of stuff harder than this.”

A grumble and then a sullen but tired, “Fine.”

Logan looked relieved at that and gave Wallace a cheeky grin.

“But you’re taking Florence Nightingale here with you,” she added.

Logan’s smile faded at that. “I’m not—”

“Logan,” she fixed him with an annoyed glare that would’ve been more threatening if her head hadn’t been resting on her Huggy Bear pillow, “I’m eighteen. I don’t need you to fuss and… _fidget_ around me, twenty-four/seven.”

“I am _not_ —!” The words were the same, but the tone was three degrees more pissed off. Also, Logan was now pacing and fidgeting, effectively proving Veronica’s point.

Wallace really didn’t want to watch a blow-out between the two of them. “Dude, let Veronica get some sleep. Besides, I could use the back up.”

From his position on the floor, Back-Up raised his head with a curious little whine.

“Not you,” Wallace clarified.

Back-Up lowered his head, as if he understood every word being spoken.

The look in Veronica’s eyes was triumphant now.

Logan still looked pissed, but finally sighed and gave up. “Fine,” he stalked after Wallace. “See if I bring you more Kleenex at two in the morning again,” he grumbled under his breath. He cast one glance back at Veronica, who seemed to be napping peacefully, the television muted in front of her, before opening the door. “Let’s go find Pussy,” he announced overly-cheerfully.

Veronica’s right eye cracked open. “Do _not_ call her that,” she warned.

“Everyone else does!”

Wallace caught the door after him, effectively ruining the bang Logan wanted to go out on. He shut the door behind him, turned to Logan with raised eyebrows, and said, “Pussy? Seriously? What’s _wrong_ with these people, anyway?”

* * *

Keith sat in his car, studying 129 Palmetto Lane. The sun beat hot on the car roof. It seemed that Fresno was being fried by the same heat wave that had been sizzling in Neptune when he’d left. A cross-country road trip in ninety-degree temperatures in a car with broken air-conditioning wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. But, then, when he’d been a kid, _none_ of the cars had had air-conditioning, and he’d managed just fine. Hell, his and Frank’s old squad car hadn’t had A/C. He could still remember how that thing boiled them alive.

It had been hot that last summer before he and Lianne had moved to Neptune, too. The air had been muggy, and tempers had been short, and they’d been stuck working on a case that had been _way_ out of Keith’s league at the time…

 

_The O’Connor case was officially driving Keith out of his mind. Frank had warned him that he had to take a step back and think about something other than work, but Keith had always found that once he’d set his mind to something, he couldn’t let up._

_“Driven,” Felicity had laughed, leaning in to kiss Frank on the forehead goodnight, that night last week when he and Lianne had had dinner with the Romanos._

_Frank had been coming into work with circles around his eyes for the last few weeks now, jaw tense and not fully shaven. There was just something about the bright, toothy smile in Leah O’Connor’s last known picture that made every cop in Fresno give that extra ten-percent._

_Keith was giving it his all that night, in fact._

_They’d have the warrant in their hand tomorrow, as soon as the DA got their hands on one of the judges, but for now Keith could do nothing but keep a grim watch on the building. The license plates, the witness reports, everything matched this place. Dina Clark had most definitely been responsible for Leah’s tragedy._

_Keith had been reading over – “obsessing over,” in fact, because he could admit that Lianne was right about his preoccupation – their suspect’s file all night. Run-away mother, abusive father, a line of juvenile offenses as long as his arm, and some darker ones after Dina had reached the legal age: theft, solicitation, assault. Definitely a troubled young woman and, from his and Frank’s confrontation with her that afternoon, one whose conscience had turned black long ago. There was just something wrong about seeing a woman that young – a _girl_ still, really – with eyes so empty. The twisted smile on that face had resolved any doubts Keith had had about Dina’s guilt. Whether or not that would be any consolation to the O’Connors… Well, Frank was jaded enough that he’d given up hope; Keith couldn’t do that, though. Not yet._

_Keith’s reflections were cut off when, suddenly, the door to the house opened with a bang, and a man emerged and…_

_Keith froze, styrofoam coffee cup only halfway to his mouth. The _last_ person that should be coming out of Dina Clark’s building was Henry O’Connor himself. Keith’s mind reeled for a moment, because no father could possibly be involved with what had happened to his own eight-year-old daughter…_

_But then another figure came out, and all the implications changed, became deeper and darker._

_Frank._

_It only took Frank seconds to spot Keith’s beat-up Chevy across the street. A cop noticed things a distressed father didn’t. Henry O’Connor seemed stunned, broken, maybe even horrified as he lurched to the side of Frank’s Mercury. He threw up into the gutter, and Frank’s eyes shifted back and forth between the grieving father and Keith._

_Finally, Frank said something to O’Connor and then headed for Keith._

_“What’s going on?” Keith’s voice sounded overly-light as he rolled down the window._

_“Keith…” Frank was using his good-cop voice. Keith had never been on the receiving end before, and decided he didn’t much like it._

_“Frank…” Keith warned in turned._

_A sigh, and then Frank was fingering the box of cigarettes in his pocket. “Felicity wants me to quit, you know.” He lit up and took a deep breath of smoke into his lungs._

_“What are you doing here?” Keith demanded. “What is he doing here?” He pointed to where O’Connor was now seated nervously in the passenger seat of Frank’s car._

_“Look, we know she was the perp,” Frank began conversationally._

_“And that’s why we’ll arrest her tomorrow.” Keith’s voice was tight._

_“And then what?” Frank countered. “You saw that psycho’s wrap sheet. She should’ve been put away nine times already.”_

_“We’ve got her this time, though!”_

_Frank snorted derisively. “And O’Connor should just have taken that chance. After what she did to his little girl?”_

_“Frank… What did he do?” Sudden alarm flared through Keith._

_Frank swore, his fist coming down hard on the roof of the car. “Fuck, Keith. I didn’t think he’d…” A sigh. “I just told him we’d gotten the perp. I came after him as soon as…” He cursed again under his breath and took another drag of his cigarette._

_“We’ve got to call this in.” The implications were sinking in hard and fast now. “How bad is…?” He couldn’t even bring himself to say._

_“You want to get a good father arrested just because he thinks ‘an eye for an eye’ is better justice than seeing that psychopath walk?” Frank countered angrily._

_Keith was feeling angry now, too. “That’s the law.”_

_“Yeah. Well, the law didn’t do much to save Leah, now did it?”_

_“Neither did O’Connor.”_

_“You blame him?” Frank countered. “Can you say that, if someone did that to your kid, you wouldn’t do the same?”_

_“Yes, dammit!” Keith was upset now too._

_“You and Lianne want a kid, right?” Frank’s tone was dark and caustic. “You can honestly say that if you had a little girl…” He trailed off pointedly._

_Keith gulped. He didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to consider that he could ever love someone that much and then have something that horrible…_

_“Well?”_

_“No,” Keith breathed out in defeat. And it wasn’t supposed to be like that. He believed in the law; it was why he did what he did. Protect and serve. That was supposed to be enough, black and white, good and evil, and…_

_“You want O’Connor to go to jail, it’s your call,” Frank sounded just as defeated as Keith felt._

_Keith just shook his head._

_“Then you were never here,” Frank informed him. “And, after I clean up, neither was I.”_

_O’Connor’s eyes, shocked and haunted, watched them from the car across the street…_

 

Keith shook his head suddenly, violently, and the bright sun of daylight brought him back to the present. That was a night he tried to forget for exactly this reason: if he let it, it could consume him. It already had, more than he would like to have admitted. There had been a taint on the world after that night, everything grayer all of a sudden.

And, at the time, he’d thought that that was only because his own eyes had been opened to the darkness the world had in store. Now, however, he was wondering if something else had been in play.

Frank had been awfully accepting that day. At the time, Keith had just thought it was the world-weary experience of an older partner. But now… If everything Lianne had said was true, then Frank had been caught up in something _dark_ , even back then. And, really, there was only one person he could ask about that.

He slipped from the heat of the car into the heat of the day and approached the door of the dilapidated old house. It certainly wasn’t the standard he would’ve expected, but he wasn’t there to judge.

A deep breath and a sigh, and he rang the bell.

There was the sound of movement in the background, and then blue eyes blinked out into the sunlight through the opened door.

“Felicity,” Keith offered a wan smile. “Long time, no see…”

* * *

“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” Logan grumbled, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Dude,” Wallace rolled his eyes, “can’t you stop complaining for, like, five seconds?”

Logan opened his mouth to reply but any response he would have given was interrupted when the door opened, and a petite brunette wearing a maid’s uniform peeked her head out the front door of what had to be one of the five largest mansions in Neptune. “We don’t accept solicitations,” she informed them in a British accent that was probably supposed to sound crisp and haughty, but ended up coming out more mousy.

“Uh…hi,” Wallace waved. “We’re with Mars Investigations. Tallulah Godfrey said she’d be calling over to let you know that we were coming.”

The maid instantly relaxed, shoulders lowering a good two inches. “Of course,” she agreed, looking around furtively. Like there were neighbors within 400-yards of the house or something. “Come inside.”

Logan raised his eyebrows, and Wallace just shook his head and went in first.

“I-I’ve been so worried that someone would come looking for the Missus,” the maid continued nervously as she led them through a parlor that looked like it could have been a museum in and of itself.

Wallace cast a glance Logan’s way, but Logan seemed thoroughly uninterested. Right. Logan had probably seen houses like this every day of his life.

“And if Mr. Sharpe were to call…” The maid was _actually_ wringing her apron. Wallace had thought that was just an expression before now.

“So, anything you could tell us about Mrs. Sharpe…?” he asked hopefully.

Logan snorted under his breath. “Smooth.”

The maid seemed not to hear Logan. “Sh-She’s never done anything like this before. I can’t imagine… Do you think the kidnappers will call with the ransom soon?” More apron wringing followed.

“Kidnappers?” Wallace raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t we make sure she didn’t just take off first…”

“Oh, the Missus would never do that.” The maid’s voice seemed to rise an octave. “She’s always been the perfect wife.”

“Of course, she has.” Logan glanced pointedly over at the well-stocked bar in the recreation room to their right.

Wallace gave him an annoyed look before turning back to the maid. “Can we see Mrs. Sharpe’s room?”

A moment’s hesitation, but then politeness and job-training won out, and they were led through what seemed like an endless maze of hallways and stairs. Wallace did a bit of old-fashioned gaping while he was at it; Logan just trudged about sullenly, like he was being dragged to his own execution.

“I don’t know how this can possibly be of use, but…” The maid held open the door for them.

Wallace blinked at the bedroom. That one room quite possibly had more floor space than his mom’s entire house. The whole place was very minimalist: black, cold, Swedish-looking furniture against the walls, a giant canopy bed in the center of the room, and windows that had to be ten feet high all along the far wall. There was an honest-to-god _balcony_ outside. Wallace walked toward it, half-interested.

Logan paced around behind him, somehow looking far less out of place, even though his ratty jeans and t-shirt didn’t look any different than Wallace’s. Logan vanished into one of the doors along the west wall of the room when Wallace turned back to look. Either a closet or the bathroom, Wallace guessed.

“When was the last time you saw Mrs. Sharpe?” he asked the maid, who was still hovering uncomfortably in the doorway.

“Monday. She took supper at her usual time.”

“She stay here Monday night?”

A quick headshake. “The bed wasn’t disturbed.”

“You hear her go out?”

“I-I only work days.”

“Was anyone here that night? Besides Mrs. Sharpe, I mean?”

“Mr. Sharpe only keeps minimal staff when he’s not in residence,” she explained. “Only me, and then the housekeeper visits on Fridays…”

“So no one saw or heard _anything_?”

Another head shake.

“D-Do you think the kidnappers—?” she began.

“Don’t exist.” Logan emerged from the side room, and Wallace stepped forward to see that it was, indeed, the bathroom. Possibly the largest bathroom he’d ever seen. “Unless they decided to conveniently pack a night bag while they were at it.”

Wallace gave him a look.

“Bathroom’s been raided, man. No brushes, no make-up, no toothbrush.”

Wallace’s eyes settled on the maid, who was looking more nervous by the minute. “Mrs. Sharpe have anywhere she might go? Any friends?”

The maid just shook her head miserably.

Logan let up a melodramatic sigh and rubbed his temples before fixing the maid with that _look_ that had earned him the rightful title of Neptune High’s Biggest Jackass for four years running. “Look, Elizabeth or Beatrice or Wilhelmina or—”

“Angie,” she offered meekly.

“— _Whatever_ ,” he concluded. “I don’t even want to be here. So how about you just stop lying to us so we can get the hell out of here?”

“I…” Angie seemed to be horrified speechless by the accusation.

Logan rolled his eyes. “ _Please_. I grew up in the hammiest family this world has even known. I can recognize bad acting when I see it. Now, stop wasting our fucking time.” The end of that was sharp and angry, and it most definitely had an effect, although probably not the one Logan had intended.

Angie promptly burst out into tears.

Logan just made a disgusted sound, while Wallace glared at him and went over to help Angie into one of the armchairs by the dresser. “It’s OK,” he said softly, before giving Logan the Evil Eye again for good measure. “Way to make her _cry_ ,” he accused.

“Whatever, man,” Logan retorted. “It’s not my fault she sucks at lying.” He was starting to look a bit contrite at Angie’s obvious distress, though.

Wallace continued to rub Angie’s shoulders and assure her that everything would be all right. After a minute or so, her sobs softened to sniffles. “See, it’s all right,” he sighed with relief. “It’s all right.” A deep breath as he hoped she was cool to talk now. “But we _really_ need to know the truth now.”

Logan muttered something in the background.

“Don’t mind him,” Wallace insisted. “He’s just an asshole.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Angie gulped and nodded, and managed a weak smile in response to Wallace’s own.

“Can you tell us what happened? For real, this time?” Wallace ventured hopefully.

“M-Mrs. Sharpe did leave on Monday night after I left,” Angie insisted. “I didn’t lie about that…”

“But?” Logan cut in, annoyed.

Angie tensed up, looking like she was about to burst into tears again.

“Can you back off?” Wallace glared at him over his shoulder.

Logan stared down at his shoes, but was blessedly silence.

“But?” Wallace repeated Logan’s question in a kinder voice.

“I-It’s not the first time she’s left for the night,” Angie replied. “In fact, over the last couple of months, she’s spent the night elsewhere quite a lot. But she _always_ returned the next day.” She grabbed Wallace’s wrist at this, as if trying to convince him physically that she was telling the truth. “She’s never been gone this long. I-I didn’t know what to do, so I called Miss Godfrey and…” Another sniffle.

“Hey, it’s cool,” Wallace assured her. “You did the right thing.”

“Yeah, because Pussy _really_ would’ve wanted PIs chasing after her when she ran off to her new life with Fabio…” Logan grumbled in the background.

“Dude, you really _can’t_ be quiet for five seconds, can you?” Wallace retorted.

Logan just sighed impatiently. Honestly, there were some days when Wallace didn’t know how Veronica put up with that boy…

He turned back to Angie. “We’ll need to know about Mrs. Sharpe’s bank accounts and her credit cards. Anything about how she might have gotten money before she ran off…”

Angie nodded. “I can get that.” Her voice was still shaky, and she still wasn’t looking at Logan, but she seemed more together now. “Just…” Her bit her lip and considered for a moment. “She _has_ to be back before Mr. Sharpe comes home. If she’s not here…” A nervous gulp. “He’ll _kill_ her.”

* * *

“Felicity, I’m so sorry.” Keith sat beside her on the ugly green sofa and gently rubbed comforting circles into his old friend’s back as she recovered from her tears.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying anymore,” Felicity sniffed, sounding thoroughly miserable. “I knew this would happen _years_ ago. It was why I left Frank…”

“That doesn’t make it any easier to handle,” Keith encouraged her.

She sighed and wiped at her eyes half-heartedly with the back of her hand. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” She reached over for a glass of something golden-brown and toxic smelling. Normally, Keith might have objected, but the woman’s ex-husband and love of her life had just died, after all. “You were there? You saw him?”

“Not before…” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.” The guilt was ridiculous, of course; he’d left the hospital as quickly as possible. But every time he pulled on the scarred remains of his bullet wound, the thought came back to him anyway: He should’ve been faster.

“You always took on too much responsibility,” Felicity said, eyes knowing. She scanned the room before her as if _seeing_ the clutter of empty glasses and liquor bottles on her coffee table for this first time. “But Frank got into this all on his own.”

“That wasn’t your attitude the last time we met.” Keith kept his voice carefully curious…

 

_“It’s ridiculous,” Felicity insisted bitterly. “Ten years on the force, and this is how they reward him?”_

_Keith sat at the table in Felicity’s always-immaculate kitchen and sipped at the coffee she’d handed him. “I’m sure it’s just a formality,” he insisted. “A routine check.”_

_“Internal Affairs doesn’t do routine,” she retorted._

_“If Frank hasn’t done anything wrong…” Keith began somewhat nervously, trying not to think of the incident with O’Connor last month._

_“He hasn’t.” Felicity’s tone made it a statement rather than a question, but the look in her eyes let Keith know all too well that she knew what he was thinking, knew about the whole O’Connor affair in perhaps more vivid detail than even Keith did. Frank and Felicity had always had a very close and trusting relationship._

_Keith offered a half-hearted smile that he wished could be more sincere. “Of course, he hasn’t,” he agreed, a promise hidden in his words._

_Felicity smiled back, more genuine this time and returned to the oven as Frank returned. “Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes.” She gave her husband an affectionate kiss on the lips._

_Frank kissed her back and then caught Keith’s troubled expression. “Is everything all right?”_

_Keith just nodded._

_“Everything’s perfect,” Felicity insisted with a laugh._

 

“I shouldn’t have lied to you back then,” Felicity apologized, staring at the empty glass in her hand. “I should never have let Frank get away with it…”

* * *

Veronica yawned and, with a groan, shut her laptop. Maybe there was something to be said for that whole sleep thing, after all. On the other hand, with Logan out of her hair helping Wallace, she finally had some solid free time to look into the seemingly endless pile of long-term cases she was working on. All of which were going absolutely nowhere at the moment.

Professor Tyler Wilson’s file was clean. Veronica had run his credit cards and found nothing unusual beyond a subscription to Playboy. And, she supposed, even professors were allowed to lack taste.

The connection to East Neptune Middle School seemed aboveboard. From the files she’d copied, it was clear Wilson had set up approved interviews with the school’s guidance department, complete with all the necessary paperwork. Of course he’d apparently managed to find the time to seduce one of the students, but there was no connection to any of the past investigations, witness reports, or even random quotes as an expert on psychology in any of the disappearance cases.

Likewise, Wilson’s criminal record was clear. He’d been at a party back in college that the police raided, but he hadn’t been one of the ones with reefers that day, and had been released. It wasn’t like partying was the sign of a criminal mastermind.

It was all giving Veronica a headache. Or maybe that was just the flu.

She reached over for the end table and found the bottle of Advil and orange juice Logan had been keeping fully stocked at her side. The Advil was still mostly full, but the orange was mostly empty now. Damn. That meant she had to either get up or take the pills dry. She opted for the latter, although she wouldn’t have minded if, at that moment, Logan could pop back in for five minutes, just to give her a refill. And maybe a neck massage.

Swallowing the pills and curling back down into the nest of blankets and pillows set up on the couch, Veronica closed her eyes and tried to get her mind to relax. Of course, that was a feat beyond even her capabilities. Maybe if she had some Nyquil or…

Or she could just give up and make sure Logan and Wallace weren’t killing each other. There was a part of her now that was kind of sorry that she’d sent Logan away. Sure, he had his faults, but he was great at bringing orange juice and Nyquil and, well, he was never boring, with minimal effort on her own part to keep the conversation running. That, and he made a really comfortable pillow that smelled good and vibrated when he laughed, and…

Oh, dear god, the flu was making her _sentimental_.

Maybe it was the medication or the afternoon soaps or just that she had a really hot boyfriend. In any case, Veronica reached for the phone. “Hey…”

* * *

“I miss you too, honey-dumpling,” Logan said in a tone so saccharine that Wallace had no choice but to stick out his tongue in disgust. Logan was rolling his eyes, like that made the sarcasm any more bearable. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. We’re at your office right now. No, she packed a bag. Well, of _course_ that means she’s having an affair!” Logan scowled into the receiver and listened to what sounded like an inordinately long speech on the other end. “Yeah, we were just doing that now. We _have_ actually worked cases with you before, you know.”

Wallace couldn’t help but snicker at that. Veronica just couldn’t leave well enough alone, even if they were investigating this case _for_ her.

“I’ll tell you as soon as we find anything,” Logan insisted, sounding very weary. A pause. “How are you feeling?” The answer produced a frown. “You need to sleep, Veronica. There’s Nyquil in the— Fine, fine! Don’t listen to me. What do I know anyway?” Logan turned his back on Wallace and walked over to the little makeshift kitchen by the door. He said some stuff quietly into the receiver that Wallace probably could’ve picked up on, if he wanted to.

Listening to Veronica and Logan make sweet was the _last_ thing Wallace needed to hear, however, so he just settled himself into the chair in front of Veronica’s reception desk and turned on the computer. Needlessly slow booting began.

“Right. Bye,” Logan said more loudly in the background.

“Let me guess: Veronica?” Wallace grinned to himself before clicking on the icon for the PI database.

“Nope, Sam Spade. He says he wants his fedora back.”

Wallace snickered. “What’d she say?”

Logan sighed and pulled up an extra folding chair so that he could peer over Wallace’s shoulder at the computer screen. “That we should check credit cards and bank accounts.”

Wallace gave him a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “What? Does she think we’re stupid or something?”

“No, just that we’re horribly incompetent.” Logan slumped back in his chair. The log-in screen for the database appeared on the monitor. “Veronica’s password is Q4R%—”

“—Z_42,” Wallace finished for him. “Dude, I know. I can look over her shoulder just as well as you can.”

Logan laughed at that. “And she thinks we don’t pick up on all her tricks.”

“Girl needs to learn not to underestimate a pair of undercover brothas,” Wallace agreed. He ran a search on Colleen Sharpe’s credit cards. Nothing for the past two days. That in itself was probably unusual for a rich trophy wife.

Wallace went back and checked Colleen’s bank accounts.

Behind him, Logan let out a groan of frustration. “Dude, this _sucks_!”

A smile curved Wallace’s lips. “Don’t hold back from me now, man. Tell me how you _really_ feel.”

Logan glared at him. “Look, maybe you like being treated like Veronica’s little errand boy or whatever, but I don’t, OK?”

Wallace shook his head at that. “It’s just V being… _V_ ,” he insisted. Pussy’s bank account showed no unusual activity, either. Wallace expanded the search to the whole of California.

“Yeah, just great,” Logan grumbled. There were a few minutes of blessed silence before, “Does she have to order me around like some cheap boy toy, though?”

Wallace gave him an appraising look. “Well, if it look like a—”

“Shut up, man! I’m serious.” Logan was fidgeting incessantly with the band on his watch now, staring at it intensely so that he didn’t have to look at Wallace.

“What is this? Guy talk?” Wallace retorted. The current search turned up nothing, yet again. Wallace went to Plan B and started over again, this time using Pussy’s maiden name: Colleen Darley.

“Whatever.” If Logan slumped down any further in his seat, he’d evaporate into the chair itself. “I just thought… Whatever.”

Wallace sighed. This was _just_ what he needed. On screen, the credit card search turned up bust, and he went on the bank accounts with the maiden name. “What do you want me to say, man?” he retorted, typing in the required fields.

“Dunno,” Logan said so softly Wallace could barely hear him. “Just…you’re supposed to be her best friend, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “Doesn’t mean I’m not stuck with the side-kick gig just as much as you are.”

“But…” A hesitant pause. “Does she, like, talk to you? And stuff?”

“She talks about her cases. And her opinions on various classmates and media personalities. The ways that she hated you were a favorite topic of conversation a couple of years back,” he added with an evil little smile.

Logan snorted at that. “Does she ever talk to you about the ways she _likes_ me?”

“Nope.” Wallace shook his head. “I’m still pretty sure it’s just because she’s crazy.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think the same thing…” Logan muttered under his breath. He’d acquired a pencil from the desk now and was using the tip to flick his watch clasp open and closed incessantly.

“Knock that off, man!” Wallace snatched the pencil from him after some half-hearted swatting on both their parts. “And what the hell are you talking about?”

“She treats me like fucking garbage,” Logan insisted sullenly.

“Now, I _know_ you’re exaggerating,” Wallace retorted.

“Whatever. She drags me out whenever she needs me for something, and then acts like I’m bugging her or whatever whenever I want to spend any time together.”

“Well, your voice _does_ make girls cry,” Wallace pointed out. “Literally. This afternoon, in fact.” OK, so cheap shots were fun.

“Yeah, great. Thanks for that,” he sulked. “It’s not like she’s exactly easy to get along with either, y’know?”

Wallace couldn’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, I know, man.” He perked up suddenly when the database returned a hit. “We’ve got something,” he announced excitedly.

Logan uncurled from his decidedly teenage slouch. “Oh, Pussy,” he tisked lightly. “Why, oh why, do you have a bank account over in Haverbrook?”

“I’m guessing that’s where Ms. Pussy’s keeping her latest beau.”

“Well, _duh_!” Logan looked at him like he was a total simpleton.

Wallace shook his head. “Oh, yeah. You and V are _definitely_ meant for each other,” he retorted as he logged off.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Logan demanded.

“Whatever. You up for a brief road trip?”

“Yeah, fine. Great.”

“To the Big-Birdmobile, then!” Wallace laughed.

Logan glared at him. “Dude, shut _up_!”

* * *

“I need to know, Felicity,” Keith said seriously. “Frank’s dead. I could have been, too. What the hell is going on here?”

Felicity sighed and rubbed at her temple with one hand. Her glass only had one sip left in it, and the bottle on the table was empty now. Keith was willing to bet money that she had more stashed away somewhere. “I… I noticed there was too much money coming in about a year before you and Lianne moved down to Neptune. But I didn’t care then. I was, god, so naïve…” she finally began raggedly. She downed the last of her glass before looking at it forlornly.

“Money?” Keith repeated in disbelief. “But the IAB investigation said—”

“They missed him, OK?” Felicity cut in bitterly. “Frank covered it up, and he got off, and… Fuck! I was just stupid enough – just in _love_ enough – to help him.”

“Felicity, I…”

She put her head in her hands. “I know, Keith. I’m sorry. I never should’ve lied to you…”

 

_“Officer Mars,” the first IAB detective gave him a wide smile. The second sat back in his chair, eyes looking dark and sinister. Honestly, Keith couldn’t figure out why cops tried playing good-cop/bad-cop on other cops; he already knew all their tricks. “Have a seat.”_

_Keith sat._

_Good Cop and Bad Cop faced him, hands folded neatly on the table before them. “This is just a routine investigation,” Good Cop assured him. “Nothing to be concerned about.”_

_“Yeah, my partner’s just being investigated by IAB. No big.” Keith let out a false laugh before his expression turned seriously. “Look, I’m not a rookie anymore; I know this is serious. So, please, don’t patronize me.”_

_That got an approving nod out of Bad Cop. Good Cop’s smile turned two shades more false._

_“Right,” Good Cop began. “So we just need to know a few basics, if you’ve noticed Romano behaving oddly or…” He left the question open-ended._

_“Well, Frank’s been hitting the coffee harder than usual lately, but I think that’s just due to the fact that someone,” Keith’s eyes narrowed darkly, “unjustly accused him of accepting bribes.”_

_“Look,” Good Cop feigned a warm smile, “Keith,” and now he was trying for false familiarity, “this is a serious matter, and—”_

_“Frank would never accept bribes,” Keith said with perfect conviction. After all, that part he was at least sure of. He sure as hell was glad they weren’t asking about anything else. “I’m positive.”_

_His tone left no room for argument. Or, at least, convinced Good Cop and Bad Cop that if they wanted the dirt on Frank, they wouldn’t get anything from Keith._

_Good Cop looked rather weary as he rubbed one hand over the bald spot on his head. “Thank you, Deputy Mars.” A pause. “You’re a good partner. Romano’s lucky to have someone like you.”_

_Keith didn’t dignify that with a response._

 

“He was accepting _bribes_ , Felicity?” Keith repeated in disbelief. “But he would never…”

“It was _hard_ , all right?” Felicity snapped back at him. “We were behind on our mortgage payments, and then just… The financial problems _stopped_ , and at first I didn’t ask, but…”

Keith put his head in his hands in disbelief. “Lianne said that Frank was laundering money through her. You’re telling me she’s right?”

Felicity’s expression was dark. “I’m not making this up, Keith. I divorced Frank for a reason.”

Keith nodded slowly, still trying to absorb this fact. Finally, “Who was paying him off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Felicity!” Keith felt his voice go angry, but there was nothing he could do about it. “These people _shot_ me!”

“I don’t know, all right?” she snapped angrily. “Frank… He never told me. He said I was safer that way, and…” A hitching sob. “I guess he was right.”

“I need to know who did this,” Keith insisted.

“I know, I understand, just…” Felicity held up her hands helplessly. “It started in that last year before you left for Neptune,” she repeated. “It must’ve had something to do with one of your cases then. That’s all I know.”

* * *

With a start and a gurgle, Veronica returned to consciousness. Just _barely_. And consciousness wasn’t all that happy a place to be just then. Especially since in the waking world, she’d been a complete idiot and had sent away her hot boyfriend with his sexy ass. As a result, she has to resort to Nyquil induced dreams to get her fill of Logan’s behind. And, oh, what a sweet behind it was…

It occurred to her dimly, in the back of her mind, that her medication was possibly making her just a bit loopy. On the other hand, loopiness wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It allowed her to think more clearly about really important matters that she usually avoided. Like, say, the complete and total hotness of her boyfriend. And how, if she’d ever admit it to herself, she liked that boyfriend a frightening amount. So much so that she’d taken to distracting herself with cases every time she was in his presence, because if she didn’t, if she let him that _close_ …

Well, she obviously thought _something_ bad would happen. It wasn’t like her past experiences had led her to have any trust of intimacy whatsoever. But, then, this was _Logan_ , and if there was anything that boy was amazing at, it was making her forget that there had ever been anyone but _him_. With Logan, the worst thing that she could think of happening was that she might finally get to _enjoy_ that very fine ass, and…

Well, that didn’t seem like a bad thing at all.

* * *

“…And she says my friends are all bad influences.”

Yes, an hour’s drive to Haverbrook, five hotels searched thus far, and Logan _still_ hadn’t shut up. “Dude, your friends _are_ all bad influences,” Wallace reminded him.

Logan seemed strangely impervious to that logic, no matter how many times he was told it. “That and, like, the _day_ after her dad leaves town, she gets the flu. I mean, what is that? It’s like her immune system is trying to avoid me, too.”

“Riiight,” Wallace gave him an incredulous look. “Veronica _planned_ to get sick. ‘Cause that makes so much sense and all.”

“Whatever.” It was a sullen ‘whatever’, however, like Logan couldn’t help but concede _that_ point, at least. “But, still—”

“Look, man,” Wallace cut in, starting to get fed up. “Do I look like a hot blonde?”

Logan gave him a confused look. “What the hell, man?”

“Then I guess that means I’m _not_ your girlfriend. Wait, pull over here,” he instructed Logan as he saw the sign for the AmericInn.

“Here? Dude, this place is a dive.” Logan scowled at the sign but pulled over anyway. “This is worse than the Camelot. It’s, like, the _Spamalot_.”

“Which makes it the perfect place to find us some Pussy,” Wallace grinned.

Logan groaned. “Whatever, man. Let’s go. And you’re _not_ fucking hot.”

“Right. Which makes me not Veronica,” Wallace concluded, getting out of Logan’s SUV. “Which makes me, oh yeah, _not_ the person you should be telling all this to!”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I should tell Veronica. That’s great.” He burst through the front doors dramatically. “Because we all know how much Veronica _loves_ to talk about her feelings.”

Wallace just shrugged; he’d tried. “Whatever, man. She’s _your_ girlfriend.” He turned to the guy at the desk. “We’re looking for this woman?” He offered up a picture of Pussy.

The desk clerk blinked at him, looked like he was considering putting up a fuss, and then shrugged like it was too much effort. “That your pal’s girlfriend?” he asked curiously, pointing to Logan.

Logan just grunted. If he pretended, this guy might actually cooperate.

“My condolences,” the desk clerk grinned evilly. It seemed his schadenfreude was alive and well. “You might was to reconsider taking up with that whore. Who knows where she’s been? Well, I mean, I do… She’s been in about five different rooms here this month alone…”

Wallace blinked at him in surprise. “She here now?” he asked hopefully.

The clerk chuckled in a nasty way and then started coughing. “Police finally caught her in the act this Monday,” he informed Logan, obviously hoping for an explosion. “Too bad. She was good for business.”

He frowned when Logan just smiled happily. “Then it’s a good thing she’s not my girlfriend. Thanks _so_ much for the information!” He all but skipped from the office.

There was times when Wallace wondered whether Logan had actually matured beyond six. “Why the hell would Pussy be…” He froze on the word.

“Hooking? Whoring? Gainfully employed in the world’s oldest profession?” Logan offered cheekily.

“…When she’s, y’know, _rich_?”

“Let us away to the police station and find out, then!” Logan pronounced with a wave of his hand. Ah, well. At least he wasn’t whining about Veronica anymore.

* * *

Pussy looked so very relieved to see them. Even more so when Logan actually posted her bail. She was as effusive in her praises and thanks on the drive back to the AmericInn, where Pussy’s had left her car, as she was about her complete and utter innocence.

Logan looked like he’d had just about enough. Wallace had been about to warn him, but then Logan had exploded with, “Yeah, that would sound a _lot_ more convincing without the same damn arrest last week. Next time you want to try streetwalking, could you do it closer to home and save us on the gas money?”

Pussy froze, mid-smile, blue eyes vacant and blonde head tilted cutely to one side.

“Dude,” Wallace muttered under his breath, jabbing Logan in the ribs, “what did I tell you about making girls cry?”

Pussy didn’t cry, though. In fact, her eyes seemed to clear into something cold and calculating, and her smile switched into something much more like a smirk. Even with her Shirley Temple curls, she suddenly looked like an _adult_ , and the change was so shocking, Wallace didn’t know how to react.

“If I sell myself out closer to home,” Pussy answered Logan’s question, voice lower and _older_ sounding now, “then the police could recognize me or trace me back to my husband.”

Logan looked equally puzzled by this sudden transformation. From all he’d heard from Veronica, Pussy was the perfect, vacuously bubble-headed trophy wife. “Well, then, I guess the solution to your problems would be to not get arrested.”

She gave him a condescending smile. “But, then… Where would I get the money to get _away_ from that controlling bastard?” Her tone was far too kind for her words.

“Duuuude…” Wallace breathed. “There’s got to be a better way than—”

“It’s all I know,” Pussy retorted. “It’s all I’ve ever done.” She grimaced at the gaping expressions on their faces through the rear-view mirror. “Oh, come on. Where else would dear old _John_ find a ‘wife’ willing to cut her face up monthly for him?” Then, with a toss of her head, Perfect Wife Pussy was back. “There’s my car.” She pointed out the window, her voice high and child-like.

Wallace and Logan exchanged a look.

“Look,” Wallace began, “if you need money that bad, you might wanna consider your pal Tallulah? She came through and got us to help you, y’know.”

The expression on Pussy’s face turned startled for a moment, before that fake, plastic smile was back. “She’s a good friend,” she insisted, “but I know how to take care of myself.” Another toss of her hair, a fingerwave, and she was gone.

“Dude…”

“Dude,” Logan agreed.

* * *

Keith let the screen door close behind him with a bang. The sun was lower now, and the heat of the day had broken, which meant that he got to return to the not-so-homey comfort of his motel room. However, now he had a plan.

He really did believe that Felicity didn’t know where the money was coming from. The bitter ruin of her life had made her far less able to deny Frank’s faults than she had been twenty years ago. If Felicity knew, she’d tell him. Keith trusted in that, at least.

That meant that, whatever Frank had been involved in, it had been bad enough that he’d kept it from the one person he’d always trusted above all others. Bad enough to get him killed and Keith shot.

Ideas raced through Keith’s mind, dozens of potentials, but nothing absolute.

* * *

“Hey!”

“Uh, hey.” Logan blinked in surprise when a very enthusiastic Veronica all but leapt into his arms as he came in the front door to her apartment. “You seem to be feeling better. And…perky.” More confused blinking.

“Three days of sleep accounts for the ‘feeling better’ part. Three days since my boyfriend vanished, only to finally return, explains the ‘perky’,” she clarified.

He let out a shaky laugh. “Right. Sorry about that. Wallace let you know what happened with Pussy, right?”

“Yes.” Veronica whapped him lightly on the arm. “And don’t call her that.”

“Yeah, whatever…” Logan slipped out of her arms and headed for the couch. In the three days since the Pussy case had been solved, the circle of blankets, orange juice, and Kleences that surrounded the object in question had slowly been disassembled as Veronica had gotten healthier. Logan flopped gracelessly onto one end, earning a curious look from Veronica. He patted the place beside him. “Can we talk?”

Veronica sat down beside him and leaned in to brush her lips against the curve of his throat. “We _could_ ,” she agreed, “but do we really _have_ to?”

His eyelids fluttered closed, and he let out a shuddering breath as she sucked on his pulse point. But then, his resolve strengthened again, and he pulled away. “Yes,” he insisted, “we do.”

Veronica sighed and bit her lip in a disappointed way, but nodded. “What’s up?”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of what to say. Funny how it had all come out so _easily_ when he was ranting to Wallace. But, then, it hadn’t really mattered how _Wallace_ had reacted. Veronica, on the other hand… “I just think we need to talk,” he repeated. “I mean, about our problems lately, or whatever.”

“Problems?” Veronica repeated with an indulgent little smile. “I wasn’t aware that we _had_ problems.”

He laughed raggedly. “Yeah, that’s one of our problems.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “What? That we have no problems?”

“No,” he corrected, turning to look at her abruptly, “that you _think_ we have have no problems!”

“Fine.” Veronica was clearly on the defensive now. Just great. “So what _are_ our problems? Enlighten me.”

“How about the fact that I’m a fucking afterthought in this ‘relationship’?” he retorted.

“Yeah, swear a lot,” she countered. “That’ll help.”

“I’m serious, Veronica,” he insisted. “You act like what I want is a joke.”

Veronica frowned at that. “When do I do this?”

“Oh, I don’t know… _All the time_?” Logan retorted sarcastically. “You’re always brushing me off for a case or work or orientation or _everything_. Hell, last Monday was a whole exercise in ignoring me while I’m right there. As long as it’s for a case, you’ll play nice with me, but as soon as our work was done—”

“My _dad_ made me take that case! The only reason I invited you along was because I was _trying_ to spend more time with you.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe you shouldn’t think of spending time with me is a chore?” he shot back, face pained. “I’m just sick of feeling like I’m the one making all the effort here.”

“I don’t…” she began, paused, started again. “I mean… I…” A gulp. “Why haven’t you said anything before?”

“I _can’t_ say anything!” Logan insisted, fighting the urge to get up and pace. If he did, he might break something, and then she’d go all cold on him _again_ , just like last year, and… “You never want to talk about it, about _anything_.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” she bit out.

“Because I sat down and _made_ you,” he insisted. “And, let’s face it, it’s like pulling teeth.”

“Because you insist on fighting!”

“Because I,” he concluded wearily, the anger leaving his voice, “am tired of having to second-guess myself around you all the time. Do you want me around? Do you want to be with me? What, Veronica? I can’t try to guess what you’re feeling all the time.”

“I…just…” She shook her head. “It’s not an issue.”

He let out a frustrated breath of air and stood up. “You can’t even say it, can you? Are you really that scared that you can’t just tell me how you feel?”

“I’m…not scared,” she insisted. “It’s just complicated, and I don’t really know…”

“Yeah, well, I do. I’m in love with you, Veronica, but I’m not going to go through another relationship where I just get jerked around. I had _more_ than my fair share of that with Lilly.”

Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair,” she began.

“No, maybe not, but it’s how I feel,” he insisted. “I just think that maybe we need a break.”

“We’re breaking up now?” she retorted incredulously. “Because that’s going to solve our problems, _how_?”

“ _I_ need a break,” he corrected. “To figure out… What the fuck. I don’t even know anymore, Veronica. But this…” He pointed back and forth between them. “It’s not working right now, and I just…need a break.”

She gulped, eyes very wide. “Logan, I…” she began, voice soft as she rose from the couch.

“Just…don’t.” He shook his head at her and headed for the door. “Not now, OK?”

He wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or disappointed that she didn’t try to stop him. But, by the time he’d gotten to his car, the only thought in his head was:

_Fuck._


	11. Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finds a connection between Neptune and his old cases in Fresno. Veronica works to patch things up with Logan, but takes a break to return to Neptune High and help Dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [ladyanne04](http://ladyanne04.livejournal.com/)  
> Her notes: Special thanks to sarah_p and truemyth for their super speedy and most excellent betas, and to kantayra, ladydisdain225, truemyth, and mastermia for their brainstorming help.

Veronica stood in front of Logan's door and stared at the dark wood. His car was parked in front, so he should be here. It was, after all, 8:00 am. So he’d be home right? Unless he’d gone off with Dick or Luke or somebody and they were out all night. She chewed her lip nervously. Or maybe he was here with someone less . . . complicated than her.

Damn it. She’d tried to be low maintenance, hadn't she? Why the hell did Logan always want to talk about feelings? He was such a girl sometimes. Couldn't they both just be happy and not rehash all the crap in their past? 

They'd had nothing but epic so far. Lives ruined, bloodshed? Yep, been there and done that. 

Was it so wrong to just want to move on? High school was done. Time for a fresh start, forget the past, carpe diem. She didn’t want to jerk him around like Lilly had, she cared about him. Had feelings for him. Wanted to be with him. But just saying all those things wouldn't make it so. She and Duncan were proof of that. 

They should just enjoy the summer and each other. That was what they both needed after the last year. And that was exactly what she'd tell him. If she ever got around to knocking on his door.

She lifted her hand to knock again and was startled to meet warm flesh instead of hard wood as Logan swung open the door. 

"Veronica," he greeted, seemingly not surprised to find her on his door step first thing in the morning. 

"Logan, I . . ." she trailed off as she got a closer look at him. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was flushed, he was clutching a tissue in his right hand, and he looked as though he might fall over. He'd either been on a hell of a bender or-- 

"Yes. I'm sick. You infected me with your germs. Lovely parting gift by the way, sugarpuss," he snotted, as he tried to move past her.

"Where are you going?" She stepped in his way, noticing that despite his attire of bathrobe, slippers, and ratty t-shirt and pajama pants, he was carrying a set of car keys.

"There's this thing called NyQuil? Sniffling, sneezing, and a bunch of other stuff that I can't think of because my head hurts right now medicine? Maybe you've heard of it. I need some. Also more tissues. So," he jangled his keys and tried to move past her again, "if you'll kindly move."

She made a successful grab for the keys and gave him a firm push back inside the house. "I'll go get your stuff."

He sighed and padded after her reluctantly as she directed him back to the living room and made her way into the kitchen. 

She opened the refrigerator and stuck her head in, not surprised to find some beer and a couple of cartons of leftover Chinese as its only occupants. "You need some juice, and some chicken noodle soup.” 

"You don't have to do this, Veronica," he called out.

She walked around the island that separated the open rooms and looked down at him as he lay sprawled across the couch. "Yeah, I do. You took care of me, Logan. And last night . . . I know you said . . . look, we'll talk about it later, okay? Right now, I'm going to the grocery store."  
She moved down the hallway to his bedroom and retrieved a blanket before returning and handing it to him. "Rest."

He nodded and closed his eyes as she grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

* * *

Veronica fumbled with the door, trying to balance the weight of the bags in her hand as she jiggled the lock. As it finally swung open, she could hear a voice drifting from the living room. 

A loud voice. 

A loud, male voice. 

A loud, male, obnoxious voice.

Which could mean only one thing. Dick.

She rolled her eyes and headed straight for the kitchen. She plunked the bags and keys down on the counter, attracting their attention.

"Dude, I thought you said you unlatched the old ball and chain." Dick apparently had a serious misunderstanding as to what a whisper was.

"Shut up, Dick," Logan responded.

Dick shrugged and turned to Veronica. "Hello, possible ex but still very fine lady friend of my best dude, you’re looking well today. Much better than Logan here.” He settled back down on the end of the sofa. “Death warmed over, man. Who am I gonna surf with today?"

Veronica started unpacking the bags. "Hello to you too, Dick. Logan, I'm just going to get this stuff put away and heat up some soup, then I have to go."

"Thanks," Logan nodded in her general direction without making eye contact.

She set about stocking the refrigerator, and began looking beneath the counter for a pot.

Dick continued on, oblivious to her presence now. "So, you knock this nastiness you got going on, and we have got to hit this new club that just opened up."

She could hear a snort as Logan blew his nose and responded weakly. "Yeah, sure man. Whatever."

Dick rambled on. "The Seventh Veil's got nothing on this place, the girls are way hotter."

Veronica rolled her eyes as she opened another cabinet. A new “gentleman’s club” in Neptune? That ought to be good for Mars Investigations, at least. 

"Yeah,” Dick continued. “They're not old and played out like the skanks at the Seventh Veil. They’ve got some sweet college-girl ass there."

"Sounds classy. Can’t wait," Logan intoned.

"Course they've got all those cameras outside, so you can't hit the parking lot for a little one-on-one time, if you know what I mean."

Veronica frowned. That was bad for business. Cameras? How was she supposed to get a money shot if they didn’t come out to the parking lot? Of course, given how worked up some of the guys staggering out of the Seventh Veil were, maybe they wouldn’t care. She popped up from beneath the counter. "Why do they have cameras, Dick?"

He froze and glanced back at her. "Uhh, what?"

"This place, what's it called again? Where is it and why does it have cameras?"

"Nice. Your lady friend likes the ladies," Dick whistled. 

Logan punched his arm. "Shut up, dude. It's just business. It's always business with her."

"Just answer the question, Dick." Veronica repeated, arms crossed, ignoring Logan’s comment.

"It's called Vixen, across from that little Italian place down by the marina."

"Really," Veronica frowned. "I'm surprised they let them put a strip club in there."

"Gentleman's club, Ronnie," Dick corrected. "And yeah, some people didn't want it, that's why they put in the cameras; people kept stealing stuff from the site during construction. Guess they just decided to keep them."

Veronica stared at Dick, drumming her fingers on the countertop. "When did they put the cameras up?"

Dick frowned. "Do I look like I run the place?" His eyes glazed over slightly. "Though that would be sweet - your own strip club. You should buy one of those, Logan. Or maybe I should."

The only response was a low groan from the couch. Veronica grabbed some water from the fridge and the aspirin she'd picked up and carried them into the living room, perching on the edge of the coffee table.

"Here," she said, handing him the bottle and the tablets. "Take these, I'll go get that soup."

Logan took them gratefully and swallowed, before lying back on the couch. Veronica sent Dick a scowl that seemed to bounce right off as he fired up the Playstation and continued chatting away amicably.

"Kinda hot having your own nurse. Though," he lowered his voice, "it'd be hotter if she had on one of those little white numbers."

"I can still hear you, Dick," Veronica singsonged from the kitchen.

"Hey, Dick?" Logan asked from beneath his pillow.

"Yeah? Take that, yeah, yeah," he chanted at the Playstation.

"Why don't you go tell Veronica about your little problem. She’s awfully good at solving other people's problems." 

Dick snapped his fingers. "You’re right. Nancy Drew can solve it."

Veronica cringed as she poured the can of soup in the only pot she'd been able to locate and listened to Dick's approaching footsteps. Sure Logan was mad at her, but wasn’t siccing Dick on her cruel and unusual punishment? She turned around.

"Alright. What's your problem, Dick?" She patted the bar, "Tell me all about it. Girl trouble? I hear Madison's back on the market."

"Yeah? Booty call, tonight, baby,” he responded as he launched into a dance for which she knew no name.

Veronica snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Focus, Dick. What's Logan talking about?"

"Right,” Dick responded. “You know how I have to go to summer school?"

"Cause you failed Mr. Wu's science class?" Veronica responded.

"Bingo. Somebody's been snaking things from my locker for the last week."

Veronica turned back to stir the soup. "So report it to Clemmons."

"No can do." Dick shook his head. "Let's just say some of the stuff isn't school-approved."

Veronica turned around with a frown. "Did you have drugs at school, Dick?"

"What? Do I look like a stoner?" At her look of disbelief, he threw up his hands. "Whatever. No, it's not drugs.”

Veronica waited as he began to rummage around in the fridge, then finally asked. "Okay Dick, I give. What's been stolen?"

He shrugged as he emerged with a bottle of water. "Well, the first time, it was just my notebook, which sucked, but whatever. I got this sweet little sophomore chick to hook me up, so it was cool. But then they stole my forms for the track. Which was not cool - I'd finally picked a winner."

Veronica stared at him impassively as he continued, “But then yesterday, they really pissed me off."

"What'd they steal yesterday, Dick?"

"A movie."

"Just a movie?"

" _Barely Legal Lesbian Vampires_ ,” he mumbled.

"What?" Veronica asked, cupping her ear. "I'm sorry, Dick, could you say that a little louder?”

"You heard me the first time."

"Dick, I've got to ask, why do you need barely legal vampire porn at school?"

Dick shrugged. "I was trading with somebody. Whatever. Anyway, it wasn't mine, so I need it back. So can you find out who's breaking into my locker?"

Veronica sighed. "Maybe. For a fee."

Dick scowled, but dug his wallet out of his pocket. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, Casablancas. Now I'm taking Logan his soup, and then how about we let him get some sleep, 'kay?"

Dick watched as she poured the soup into the bowl and dug in another drawer for a spoon. "You know, he's happier with you."

Veronica stopped, surprised. "What?"

Dick shrugged. "He's not as much fun maybe, but he’s not, you know, all moody as hell. So maybe you two ought to kiss and make up."

Veronica smiled. Relationship advice from Dick that she actually wanted to follow. What next, pigs flying?

* * *

Keith pulled up outside the Fresno Police Department with a sigh and mopped his brow. The temperature was still breaking records, and it would be cool inside. He sat back and watched the trickle of people entering and exiting the wide stone steps that led to the double glass doors. It had been more than eighteen years since he’d been there, back when everything was still all right, in his little world at least . . .

_“Hey, Mars? The pretty wifey brought you lunch again,” called Sergeant Collins from the front desk. “Go on back, ladies.”_

_“Ah, to be a newlywed again,” Frank teased. “I remember when Felicity used to bring me lunch.”_

_“And she still does,” Felicity called from behind Lianne as she dropped a bag on the desk in front of Frank. “Ungrateful man,” she chided, as she dropped a kiss on his forehead._

_“Hey sweetie, how are you?” Keith asked, as Lianne handed him his own lunch. “Can you stay and eat with us?”_

_Lianne smiled and he found himself getting lost in her soft blue eyes and pretty dimples as she shook her head regretfully. “Girl’s day out, I’m afraid.” She leaned in closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Will you be home late tonight? I need to talk with you about something.”_

_There was an undercurrent of worry in her voice that he caught right away. “Is something wrong, Lianne?”_

_She glanced around and he stood up, catching her hand and guiding her back to one of the interrogation rooms. “Go ahead, sweetheart, tell me what’s the matter.”_

_She stepped into his arms. “It’s my mother. She called again this morning, and I know she won’t say it, but she’s not well, Keith. She hasn’t bounced back from the last operation and I worry about her being alone.”_

_He rubbed her back soothingly. “Do you want to go stay in Neptune with her for awhile?”_

_She raised her head, her eyes wide. “Would you mind? I just hate to leave you all alone, but . . .”_

_“Absolutely,” he assured her. “She’s your mother. I’ll be fine.”_

_She beamed. “Thank you, honey. It’ll only be for a few weeks.”_

Keith sighed and opened the car door. Those few weeks had passed, and when Lianne came back, something had been different. He’d put it down to concern about her mother’s illness at first, as she’d headed to Neptune more and more frequently throughout that hot summer, spending almost as much time there as in Fresno. 

He’d been preoccupied with the O’Connor kidnapping and the department’s ongoing investigation into a suspected cocaine trafficking operation, working long hours when she was there, and longer hours when she was gone. He should have paid more attention, realized that her eagerness to get back to Neptune had its roots elsewhere. But she’d already become adept at showing him what she wanted him to see, and he had still been so in love with her that he’d accepted her explanations at face value. 

When she’d pleaded with him to move to Neptune late that fall, he’d been reluctant. Things were going well for him in Fresno, he’d even received a commendation for his work in helping bust the Milano crime family while Frank had been chained to the desk during the internal affairs investigation. 

It was only after she’d told him she was pregnant and insisted she needed to be nearer to her mother, that he’d agreed, so ecstatic about the prospect of their first child that he’d been willing to take a demotion for a position as a patrolman in Neptune. 

He paused, his hand on the door. She’d been a few weeks away from delivering Veronica before he’d pieced it together, realized who Jake Kane was, what he meant to his wife, and why she’d wanted to return to Neptune so badly. He’d almost walked away that night. 

But Lianne had promised that Veronica was his, and the first time he’d held her tiny body in his arms, he’d fallen in love with her sparkling blue eyes and tiny perfect dimples and realized he could never leave her. Which was why, no matter what memories it dredged up, he needed to find out what had been going on with Frank and if he was still at risk.

“Excuse me?” A voice sounded behind him and Keith realized he’d been standing in the doorway, lost in thought. He apologized and moved aside, following through the doors and to the front desk.

“Is Chief Collins available? Could you tell him Keith Mars is here to see him?” he asked the desk sergeant as he sat down to wait.

* * *

Veronica reached for the door to Neptune High School just as Principal Clemmons exited the building. 

"Veronica," he stopped in his tracks. "You do realize you graduated?"

She smiled. "Indeed I do, Mr. Clemmons. But the lure of the old alma mater, it just draws you back."

He shot her a suspicious look and she raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm just here to get a transcript. There was some sort of screw-up with the honors program at Hearst and they needed me to get another copy for them. Not here to cause trouble."

He eyed her dubiously, then smiled benignly. "Very well, Veronica. Always nice to have former students return to visit. When they don't have ulterior motives, of course."

She smiled back. "Of course."

She watched him walk towards the faculty parking lot and then entered the building and headed straight to the main office. That just made her job so much easier. With any luck, there'd only be an office assistant around and she could sneak into Clemmons’ office and see if any of Dick's stuff had actually been confiscated. 

Sure enough, a tiny girl who could probably make a good showing in a Kewpie doll contest sat perched behind the counter, her head bent over some files.

Veronica cleared her throat.

"Hi can I . . . Wow. Oh wow, you're Veronica Mars!"

Veronica swallowed nervously and stepped back from the wide-eyed gaze of the office assistant.

"Yes, I am. Do we . . . know each other?"

The girl laughed. "Wow. No. I mean, I wish. You're just _so_ cool!" she squealed.

Veronica looked around for the cameras. This was getting a little weird. She'd never had someone go all fangirly over her before. Grateful for solving a case, sure. And there had been that freshman who'd burned her a mix cd last year. But not like this.

"Well, thanks," she replied.

"I mean, you're dating Logan Echolls. I would totally die."

Ah. Reflected glory. She should have guessed. She shrugged, she could work with this. "Well, actually," she watched the girl's eyes sparkle and pasted on a bright smile as she leaned forward, "that's why I'm here."

"Really?" The girl looked confused. 

Veronica peered at the office assistant's nametag, "Amber? See when we graduated, I completely forgot to clean out my locker. And I had some things in there, well, Logan's just a sweetheart and he gave me this stuffed bear." She sighed. "So cute. It says ‘I wuv you beary much.’" 

She leaned forward conspiratorially. "He's such a softie. But I think I must have left it in my locker and I don't want him to think I didn't like it. So is there any way you could let me in to Principal Clemmons' office to check and see if it's in the stuff they cleaned out?"

Amber barely paused. "Sure. I can totally do that." 

She grabbed the keys and unlocked the office door. Veronica found the box in the corner she was looking for and realized Amber was still standing there. Great. An audience.

"So, Amber, what grade are you going to be in?" Veronica asked as she began pawing around in the box of discarded t-shirts, notebooks, and random shoes. People left a lot of crap behind. 

"I'm going to be a sophomore, but my mom thought I should get some classes in this summer so I won't be as distracted this fall. I'm going to be on the cheerleading squad this year," she squealed excitedly.

"That's great, Amber," Veronica responded, as she made her way to the bottom of the pile. No vampire porn. Maybe someone really was stealing Dick's stuff. Speaking of . . . 

“So you know Dick, don’t you?” Amber chirped from the door.

Veronica turned. “Assuming you’re referring to the Casablancas kind, yes, I know Dick.” She cringed. Why did that always sound so dirty?

Amber blushed. “What’s he like? I mean, I see him in the halls and he’s just so . . .” Veronica waited for it with a sigh, “cool.”

“That’s one word for him. Dick’s hard to describe. You just have to . . . experience him yourself. Not that I recommend it, though.” Veronica rose to her feet. “Darn, it’s not here. Thanks so much for letting me check.”

“No problem.” Amber relocked the door and followed Veronica through to the main office. 

“Veronica? Mr. Clemmons told me you would be coming by to get a transcript, I was wondering where you were,” Ms. James spoke from the doorway.

“Right, transcript. I was just on my way there. Nice talking to you, Amber,” Veronica called as she followed Ms. James down the hallway. 

“So Veronica, are you enjoying your summer vacation?”

“It’s been eventful,” Veronica replied.

“Yes, I heard about what happened to your dad. Is he doing alright?” 

Veronica couldn’t help but smile. Her dad certainly made an impression when he took a girl out. First Wallace’s mom, and now Ms. James. 

“He’s doing much better, a pretty amazing recovery, really. But you know Dad, he’s pretty tough.”

“That he is. Could you let him know I said hello?” 

“I will,” Veronica replied. 

“Great. Now, let’s see, you needed a copy of your final transcript. That should be easy enough.” Ms. James led Veronica into the guidance office and logged on to her computer. “Let me just pull this up, and . . .” She glanced at her printer. “Oh Veronica, I’m sorry, I don’t have the right paper. If you’ll wait just a minute, I’ll go get some.”

“Not a problem,” Veronica smiled. She waited until she heard the door close. Perfect. She jumped up and tapped quickly at the computer to access the master file for the school. There is was. Locker assignments. She scanned the list and hit print, waiting impatiently as the sheets shot out of the printer. By the time Ms. James returned, she was back in her seat.

“Okay, here we go. All the colleges want us to use this special paper so there’s less chance that the transcript’s a forgery.” Ms. James filled the printer. “So are you looking forward to going to Hearst?”

“I am, actually,” Veronica replied. “I just had orientation and there’s a lot going on there.”

“Good. I’m sorry that Stanford didn’t work out. But you’re going to be a real stand-out at Hearst, I just know it.”

“Thanks, Ms. James.” Veronica stood and took the transcript. “I’ll be sure and tell my dad you said hello.”

Veronica ducked into the girl’s bathroom and pulled out the list. There was Dick’s locker number. She scanned the surrounding lockers and classes. No one she recognized except . . . look at that. Her little friend Amber had a locker three down from Dick. And as an office assistant, she’d have access to the locker list and combinations. 

Veronica’s eyes narrowed and she headed out to the hallway. She found the bank of lockers and after making sure she was alone, twirled the lock to the settings of Amber’s combination. Bingo. One copy of _Barely Legal Lesbian Vampires_.

She plucked the DVD case from the locker and shut the door.

* * *

“Keith Mars? Haven’t seen you in a blue moon, how are you?” Keith stood as the booming voice of Chief Jimmy Collins filled the room. 

“Look at you, Sergeant Collins – you’ve come up in the world. Chief of the Fresno Police.” Keith replied, as he shook Jimmy’s large hand.

“You stick around long enough, they get tired of looking at your ugly mug and promote you to get you out of the way,” laughed Jimmy. “Come on back to my office.”

Once Jimmy settled back behind his desk, he gave Keith an appraising look. “I read your book, Keith. Sounds like Neptune’s not exactly the quiet seaside town it seems, eh?”

“You can say that again,” Keith agreed. 

“That’s some daughter you’ve raised. Quite the detective work on her part to finally piece everything together,” Jimmy continued.

“She is amazing. Just finished high school, near the top of her class. She starts college this fall.”

They spent the next few minutes comparing pictures of and generally bragging about their respective offspring. Paternal pride satisfied, Jimmy poured himself a cup of coffee and then handed one to Keith.

“So what brings you to Fresno? You working a case up here?”

Keith leaned back, “Something like that. You remember Frank Romano? He was my partner back then.”

“Sure, sure. He’s been off the force here for awhile, though. He and his wife split and he resigned not too long after that, moved on,” Jimmy replied.

“He showed up in Neptune a little over a month ago and called me. He was murdered, left in his hotel room. I found him when I went to meet him there.”

Jimmy whistled. “That Neptune is a dangerous place.”

Keith shook his head, “Oh, there’s more. A few days before that, someone tried to shoot me in a restaurant and probably would have killed me, but my daughter’s boyfriend pushed me out of the way. And I’ve found some evidence that Frank had been funneling money, a lot of money, into bank accounts with my ex-wife’s name on them.”

“You think there’s some connection between your shooting and Frank’s death?”

Keith took a sip and set his cup down, determination written across his face. “There has to be. I went and saw Felicity, Frank’s ex-wife. She admitted that Frank was dirty, he was taking bribes all those years ago, and I never knew. Someone from back then caught up with him, and they somehow think I’m connected. And I have Veronica to think about, I can’t afford to just let that go, let myself stay a target.”

Jimmy nodded. “What can I do?”

“Look, I know that it’s not exactly protocol to let someone rummage through the files. But I need to look at the cases Frank and I were working on back then, see if anything jumps out.”

Jimmy leaned back and sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Can you come back tonight? There are fewer people around and it’ll be easier for you to poke through the archives.”

“Thank you, Jimmy. They knew what they were doing when they made you Chief.” Keith stood and extended his hand. “I’ll see you tonight.”

* * *

Veronica headed back to the main office just as the bell sounded. Amber bounced out into the hallway and Veronica stepped into her path. “Hey, Amber, could I talk to you for just a minute?”

Amber’s face brightened. “Veronica! Sure, that’s cool.” She followed as Veronica led her to the girl’s restroom. 

“Okay, Amber, let me give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you’re a Buffy kind of girl.”

Amber gave her a confused look. “Buffy?”

Veronica clarified, “You know, one girl chosen in all the world to fight the demons? Digs the undead?” 

At Amber’s continued look of bewilderment, Veronica shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s get to the heart of the matter. Are you into lesbian vampire porn? Or are you stealing things from Dick Casablancas’s locker? Cause I won’t judge you for one of those things, you guess which one.”

As Amber blanched, Veronica sighed. “I thought so. Can I ask why?” 

Amber bit her lip, her eyes growing moist. “I was going to give it back, I just, I was just trying to find out more about Dick, and what he likes. He’s so cute, and he’s never going to notice me.”

“Trust me, Amber, you’re giving Dick a little more credit than he deserves. He’s not that complicated. You’re female. You’re cute. I’m guessing if you just went up and said hello, he’d notice you.”

“Really?” Amber’s face lit up and her tears seemed to vanish. “You think so?”

Veronica shook her head. “That wasn’t a suggestion. Trust me on this one, you can do better.” 

The advice seemed to sail right over Amber’s head. “You won’t tell him, will you? I promise I won’t take anything else, and I’ll put back the DVD.”

“I’ve got that taken care of, Amber. And yes, if you stop light-fingering things from Dick’s locker, I won’t tell him you were the thief.”

“Thank you so much, Veronica. You really are the best! Logan is so lucky to have you!” Amber pulled Veronica into a quick hug and scampered off to class.

“I think I created a monster,” Veronica muttered, as she watched the door swing shut.

* * *

Veronica waved her hand as she tried to get Dick’s attention from outside the open door to Mr. Wu’s classroom. Could he be more oblivious? It wasn’t even like he was paying attention, he was just totally spaced out. 

Unfortunately, most of the rest of the class were not, and one too many heads had swung in her direction. Before she could duck around the corner, Mr. Wu appeared in the doorway, surprise clearly written on his face. “Ms. Mars? Does Principal Clemmons know you’re here?” 

Veronica gave a sigh. “Yes, Mr. Wu. Was there a memo after I graduated? Go to full alert if you see Veronica Mars?” She muttered under her breath, “I found everything from parrots to patriarchs for that man, you’d think he’d be grateful.”

Mr. Wu gave her a tight smile. “We just like to keep up with non-students on campus. What can I help you with?”

“I know you’re in the middle of class, but could I speak with Mr. Casablancas for a minute? He has something I need.”

Dick stood up. “Yeah, that’s right, Dick’s got what you need, baby.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Mr. Wu, Dick borrowed my car and I need the keys back. It'll only take a minute.”

“Hey, I didn’t--” Dick stopped as Veronica glared at him. “Uh, yeah, your car keys. In my locker.”

Mr. Wu sighed. “Be swift, Mr. Casablancas. I’d like to not have you on my roster again this fall.”

Veronica pulled Dick into the girl’s room. “I’m feeling nostalgic so we'll do this in here, but keep it zipped.” 

She slid the stopper under the door and rummaged through her bag before Dick could start with the lewd comments. 

“One disc of vampire porn, recovered. And I don’t think you’ll have to worry about your theft problem any more.”

Dick frowned. “That’s it? Who took it?”

Veronica sighed. “Crazy as it may be, you had a secret admirer, Dick, who was trying to find out more about you. An underage, jailbait, secret admirer, might I add. So I’m doing you both a favor. She won’t rifle through your locker any more, and you get to stay out of community soap since you won't know who she is.”

“Some freshman hottie stole my porn? Sweet!” Dick exclaimed. 

Veronica threw up her hands up in the air. “I think my job here is done. See ya around, Dick.”

* * *

Veronica unlocked her car and settled into the seat. She needed to check in at the office, straighten things up from Wallace’s valiant efforts while she was sick. And then she needed to go check on Logan, see how he was.

But first, first she needed to pay a visit to Vixen and see if she could find a lead on her dad’s shooter. She pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards the marina. 

She pulled into the parking lot and studied the layout. The shot must have been fired from this direction, given how the window had shattered. The cameras were discreet – if she hadn’t known they were there, she doubted she would have seen them. If the shooter had been in the parking lot that night and the cameras had been working, there was a chance they might have captured his image. 

If, if, if. There was only one way to find out. She popped open her glove compartment, slid her faux diamond engagement ring in place, and headed for the side entrance to Vixen.

The entrance marked 'deliveries' was ajar, so she gave a brief knock before entering. “Hello, anyone here?”

A bald man, wearing a dark t-shirt clearly designed to show off each and every one of his bulging muscles, stepped into the hallway. 

“Well, hello there, angel. Hey Steve, come get a load of this one.”

A second guy that could have been Mr. Clean’s twin popped into the hallway. “Cute, very cute. Though not much up top. Can you give us a twirl, sweetheart and let us check out the caboose? And you are eighteen, right?”

Veronica bit her tongue. “Actually, I’m not here about a job.”

“You sure? Cause you can’t beat the money. Great tips, and we have hard-core bouncers,” Steve continued. 

Veronica giggled. “You’re sweet. But my boyfriend, fiancée actually,” she flashed her ring, “would kill me if I became a Vixen. Well, more than I already am, of course,” she winked. 

“That’s too bad, darling. What can we do for you?” Mr. Clean asked.

“It’s about the fiancée, actually.” She pouted. “See I borrowed his car - his very expensive car - several weeks ago while he was out of town. And I went to eat with some girlfriends over at that little Italian place across the street.” 

She paused, noting they still seemed to be buying it. “It was really crowded so I parked over here, in front of your place. And someone keyed the car while we were in the restaurant! Can you believe that?” Her voice rose, agitated. “My fiancée’s going to be back next week, and I’ve got to get this car fixed. So anyway, this friend of mine told me you guys had cameras in the parking lot, and I was hoping maybe I could look at the tape, see who it was?”

Steve glanced at Mr. Clean. “Did we have the cameras up then?”

Mr. Clean rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, yeah, I think sp. We were trying to keep those freaks who were stealing the construction supplies away. We keep video back-ups, I can burn a copy of the file from that night. How about I check and make sure we have it and call you when it’s done? What’s your number?”

Veronica rattled off her number and the date she was looking for. “And it’s Heather. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Jeremy and that’s Steve.”

“Thank you both again, you’re life savers!” Veronica bubbled as she turned to go.

Steve called after her. “And if you ditch that fiancée, you come talk to us, okay?”

“Will do,” Veronica wiggled her fingers at them.

* * *

“So the closed files from that time period are going to be in this one. Take as long as you need, Keith.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” Keith settled in front of the filing cabinet and began sorting. There were routine cases, some domestic violence situations, assault and battery, a petty check fraud scheme. Nothing with major money involved, not the type that Felicity had alluded to, not that type he’d seen in the accounts with Lianne’s name. 

No, there was only one case that could have involved that sort of payoff. He pulled out the file and scanned its contents. The Milano case. Milano had been a minor player in a larger crime syndicate, with connections stretching to the east coast. He and his men had established a base in Fresno for a major drug pipeline stretching up from Central America. 

The Fresno P.D. had been looking for a break for months, bits and pieces drifting together. He remembered the night they’d finally made the bust well. . .

_He sat back down at his desk, exhausted from his third round of questioning with internal affairs. Not the best way to start his shift. Frank dropped into the desk facing him._

_“They still riding you hard?”_

_“It’ll blow over, Frank. They keep asking about money, and we all know if you had any, you wouldn’t still be using that junk boat of yours to go fishing,” Keith replied._

_“Ain’t that the truth. Well, I’m out of here. Desk jockeying’s no fun, but at least the hours are regular. We’ll be back out there together again soon.”_

_“Say hi to Felicity for me. Tell her I’m going to take her up on that offer of a home-cooked meal.”_

_Frank nodded. “When’s Lianne coming home?”_

_Keith shrugged. “Maybe this weekend. She called last night, her mom took another turn for the worse.”_

_“Alright. See you tomorrow.” Frank headed out and Keith opened the next file that had landed on his desk._

_“Hey Mars, you’ve worked with Squeaky before, haven’t you?” Sergeant O’Connor called from the front._

_“Yeah. He usually talks to Frank, but he’s dealt with me.”_

_“Well, they’ve got him in holding room two, he got picked up again, tried to buy a dime bag from a cop. Says he’s got important info, but he’ll only talk to you or Frank.”_

_“I’m on it.” Keith shut the file and headed for the interrogation room._

The tip from Squeaky had led to a pick-up that had ultimately provided the evidence they needed to get a warrant. The next twenty-four hours resulted in a major bust, seizure of several kilos, and the arrests of Milano and his chiefs, as well as several minor players.

It had all seemed to be a series of coincidences at the time. But now he had to wonder, if Frank had been there that night, if he’d been the one Squeaky had talked to, would that bust have gone down? As much as Keith hated to admit it, that had to be the connection. Frank had been shielding some players, destroying evidence, something to keep them from accumulating what they’d needed to get the warrants to bust Milano. 

He flipped open the file. The question was, who was still out there that would be after Frank all these years later?

* * *

Veronica found herself standing on Logan’s doorstep reluctant to knock for the second time that day. 

The door opened. “How do you do that?” she asked.

“I heard your car pull up. Something’s banging on the rust bucket. You should get that checked out. Also, lurking’s not attractive, Veronica.”

“Thanks for the advice,” she sniped back as she followed him inside. “I take it you’re feeling better?”

He flopped back down on the couch. “Not really. I’ve just been in a NyQuil induced haze for most of the day.”

She sat gingerly on the coffee table and reached for the thermometer, checking the reading. “Your fever’s still pretty high. Are you drinking plenty of fluids?”

He rolled his head to the side of the pillow and met her eyes. “Yes. And thanks for going and getting everything for me this morning.”

Her voice softened. “It’s no problem, Logan. I really don’t mind.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, but he broke away before she could speak. “Did you manage to solve Dick’s mystery?”

She laughed. “Piece of cake. Turns out Dick just had an overzealous secret admirer. Problem solved.”

“I knew you could do it.” He smiled at her and she reached for his hand. 

“Logan, I wanted to talk to you about-” The insistent buzz of her cell phone disrupted the moment. She tried to ignore it, but Logan pulled his hand away. 

“Answer the phone, Veronica.”

She glanced at the number. “Hello?”

Over the background noise, she heard a voice rumble, “Is this Heather?”

She switched into upbeat mode as Logan watched. “It sure is. Is this Jeremy?”

“You know it, sweetheart. Just wanted to let you know I got that file burned, you can pick it up whenever.”

“Aren’t you just the sweetest? Thanks so much, I’ll come by tonight!”

She hung up the phone. “Logan . . .”

He sat up on the couch and grabbed the blanket. “I’m not feeling great, Veronica. I’ll see you later.” He turned and shuffled down the hallway without another word.

She stared after him for a long moment and then showed herself to the door.

* * *

Keith opened the next case file, his eyes starting to blur. He’d been looking for hours now, and though he had a list of names to run, no one jumped out. Milano was dead, he knew that much. He’d had cancer when he stood trial, and had died a few years later in prison. Besides he doubted Frank would have made it this long had some higher up been after him for double-crossing them.

No, it must have been someone lower, with less resources, who’d taken it personally that Frank had gotten to keep all that money. He flipped through the arrest records from the bust that night until one name caught his eye. Patrick Fitzpatrick.

Keith stopped and turned back. Patrick Fitzpatrick. One time leader of the Fitzpatrick gang, and now Father Fitzpatrick. And the sole link to Neptune. There had to be a connection. He scribbled down the information. 

He pulled the files back together and started to replace everything in the cabinet when one other folder caught his eye. Leah O’Connor. The little girl they hadn’t been able to save. He’d thought about her more than once over the years after Veronica was born. It was every father’s worst nightmare, to have a child snatched away, to not know what happened to them. 

He couldn’t condemn Henry O’Connor for what he’d done, taking revenge on Dina Clark himself. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have done the same, if someone had done that to his baby. 

And he couldn’t blame Frank either, for cleaning up the mess. It was the one thing that he’d worried about during the internal affairs investigation. He knew they’d found blood but no body in Clark’s apartment when they’d gone to arrest her. He’d always wondered how Frank had gotten rid of it, and if it would ever turn up. But those were questions he hadn’t really wanted to know the answer to, and he supposed now he never would.

He closed the file on Leah’s smiling face.

* * *

Veronica sat in front of her computer, scanning the first file. The shooting had happened at about 8:30. She slowed the film down frame by frame. Nothing. 

She clicked the next file to the second camera and fast forwarded to the right time. Just an undisturbed pile of construction materials.

She methodically worked her way through the next few files, until she reached the last. She clicked the mouse through each frame and froze.

There. There he was. The picture was a little dark, but she could clearly him lying next to a pile of lumber, a rifle balanced on an arm covered with an intricate blue tattoo, some sort of celtic design. His pale skin was a sharp contrast to his dark hair and sharp eyes, and his nose was slightly crooked, probably broken a time or two.

He was the bastard who’d shot her father. And she was going to find him.


	12. Whodunnit?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kendall Casablancas throws a Murder Mystery Dinner Party. Fun for all the family!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [mutinousmuse](http://mutinousmuse.livejournal.com/), [shizam23](http://shizam23.livejournal.com/), and [TrueMyth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueMyth/profile) (yes, all of us!)  
> Huge thanks to rindee, mastermia and kantayra for the beta job, as well as to herowlness, lex_83, txtequilanights and sarah_p for their help and suggestions.

Logan fingered the invitation absently, five minutes of working the corner with his thumb having severely frayed the edge. He and Veronica had RSVPed together several weeks ago under the auspices of keeping an eye on Kendall, although Logan had suspected Veronica simply couldn’t resist the temptation of cracking a case – even a fake one.

He flopped back on his bed, turning the murder mystery invite over and over in his hand and contemplating the sorry state of affairs that was his social life. How had it come to this, where his best option for a Saturday night was a party thrown by his mercenary ex-playmate with nary a tactful bone in her body? Not that girls had anything to do with why he was thinking of going. He should go to support Dick, that’s all. Really, the bizarre state of semi-arousal the mention of ‘clues’ and a few hastily flung accusations now brought on for him had nothing to do with it. But, maybe he could figure out what Kendall had been up to with Keith. That’s what friends did, right? Friends _without_ backseat benefits. One of his brighter ideas, to be sure. Not that he was thinking about Veronica in that way now. That would be torture: with the skin and the sweat and the way the sweet spot of her neck tasted like -

The beep of Logan’s phone going off brought a halt to his thoughts. 

It was a text message from Veronica: _Kendall’s party tonight? See you there?_

Logan groaned as he contemplated dragging his tuxedo out of mothballs. This “just friends” crap was exhausting.

* * *

“Explain to me again why we’re attending a party thrown by Kendall Casablancas?” Keith demanded, trying to think of anyone Veronica seemed less likely to want to socialize with.

“I told you. People to see.”

“And why am I here?”

Veronica swallowed nervously as she replied, trying to keep her tone light, “Someone needs to keep an eye on you. You get into all sorts of trouble when I’m not around.” 

Keith slung an arm around his daughter’s shoulder as he responded, “Well, I appreciate the sentiment, honey.”

Before Veronica could respond, her phone chirped. “It’s Cliff,” she explained, stepping back from where she had been poised to knock on the Casablancas’ door. “Let me just see what he wants before we go in.”

“Hey, I’m in no rush to get into this particular soiree.” Keith smiled agreeably, leaning against a Mercedes parked in front of the house. But, as Veronica raised the phone, she noticed the quick dart of Keith’s eyes towards the front door. Before she could begin to process what _that_ might signify, Cliff had drawled a greeting in her ear.

“You don’t need bailing out again do you, Cliff? Because I have a party to go to.”

“The party of the year, from what I hear, and I wasn’t invited. It’s a cold, cold world.”

“Aww, well if you hustle, you could be my date. Dad’s getting twitchy on me.”

“Thanks,” Cliff responded. “But somehow I suspect that would be more trouble than it’s worth. No, V, I’m calling once again on behalf on your friend in the clink.”

“Weevil?” Veronica asked unnecessarily, since as far as she knew, she only had one friend in the clink right now.

“That’s the one. Your boy wants to know what’s happening with the case he asked you to look at.”

As he listened to Veronica run through what she had so far, so Cliff could pass the information to Weevil, Keith’s expression grew serious. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded as Veronica hung up the phone.

“What?” she responded with an uneasy grin, eyes darting this way and that as she avoided her father’s gaze. “Weevil asked for my help,” she continued as Keith watched her reproachfully. “A family friend went missing, looks like it’s linked to a couple of other cases of girls being abducted—“

“Veronica, do you have any idea what you’re getting into?” Leah O’Connor’s face flashed in Keith’s mind, and his voice rose in volume as he continued. “This isn’t the same as following around a cheating husband. If those girls really have been abducted like you say, do you have any idea how dangerous it could be for you to get involved?”

“Dangerous compared to what, Dad? Compared to assorted psychopaths trying to kill me? Compared to getting shot at over breadsticks? I’m just trying to help.”

“When are you going to learn that you can’t always help, Veronica? It’s not always up to you to put yourself in the line of fire.” Anger and frustration infused Keith’s voice as he put his hands on Veronica’s shoulders, fighting the urge to just whisk her away, keep her safe.

“And when are you going to learn that you can’t protect me any more, Dad? It just doesn’t work the way it used to, where you tell me to go to my room and I pretend not to see.”

“Veronica…”

“No, Dad. You can’t keep doing this, lying to me. I know about Mom, I know you tried to keep her away from me. It’s not fair. You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to keep things like that from me.” 

“Veronica, your mother…”

“Is a drunk and a liar, it’s not news to me, Dad. But she’s still my mother, and when she tries to see me, I deserve to know about. It doesn’t matter what she’s got herself into, or –“

Veronica broke off at the sound of slow, ironic clapping from the doorway behind her. She closed her eyes briefly before plastering on a sunny smile and turning to meet Kendall as she lounged in the door.

“Laudy, laudy, Miss Veronica Mars! You do know how to make an entrance.” Kendall’s breathy drawl matched her breezy summer dress in both Southern charm and flimsy substance. Her voice took a more familiar edge as she observed, “But it is _so_ good of you to be getting out again so soon after the break up. You know what they say. You’ve got to git right back on that horse when it drops you back in the dirt.”

“Well, you would know all about riding.” Veronica smiled sweetly as she entered the house.

* * *

Veronica scanned the room again, looking for someone, anyone, she knew. Well…okay, if she was being honest with herself, which in the interests of not completely messing up everything in her life she was trying to do these days, she was actually looking for Logan. Her father had disappeared shortly after they’d been admitted to the party, muttering something about finding a drink. While a part of her had wanted to point out that he wasn’t supposed to drink while taking the painkillers his shoulder still required, the larger part of her couldn’t stand to even look at him right now. Still off balance after their fight, Veronica couldn’t bring herself to think about it any more, so instead she turned all her attention to tracking down Logan and, with any luck, mending some bridges.

Veronica eyed the crowd in mild horror. The room was filled with gaudily dressed ’09ers who seemed utterly unaware of the irony of attending a murder mystery party in the home of the recently deceased Cassidy Casablancas. Kendall herself was hovering near a basket full of clue cards, shooing away a suavely suited fellow who’d apparently had the temerity to attempt to procure a clue card early.

And there, leaning against the far wall, was Logan. A glass of champagne hanging from one hand, he was working a tuxedo like nobody’s business – and apparently avoiding her gaze with great determination. With equal determination, Veronica made a beeline across the room, cornering Logan before he had a chance to escape.

“Mars!! You look hot tonight. Sweet dress.” Out of nowhere, Dick had materialized at Logan’s side, apparently his designated wingman for the night, and was now checking out Veronica’s bare legs with a level of enthusiasm that, Veronica was ridiculously happy to note, Logan clearly did not appreciate.

“Gee, thanks Dick. I can rest easy, knowing you approve of my fashion choices.” 

“Yeah, well, at least it isn’t that banana-yellow muumuu Mrs. B is tenting around in tonight. She said it’s a designer original, but –” Dick paused when he noticed Logan’s incredulous expression. “Dude, _what_?”

Veronica met Logan’s gaze and she almost jumped for joy at the small moment of shared amusement that flowed between them at Dick’s Cosmo girl diatribe. When he sent Dick off to get more drinks she found herself holding her breath.

“Couldn’t resist the opportunity to wow the crowd with your investigative skills?” Logan teased gently, his tone sharp but absent any real malice.

“I’ve been told I’m quite the nosy one,” Veronica pointed out with a hesitant smile.

“No arguments here. So, think you’ll be up to the test tonight?” 

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Veronica agreed, before challenging him just a little, squaring her shoulders as she faced him with a slight nod of her chin, “Why? Think you can take me?”

Logan paused, appreciation for her double meaning flaring in his eyes as Veronica found herself swaying towards him. Then the light sputtered as he hesitated and seemed to contemplate backing off. But he was still Logan after all and reckless was his middle name. Veronica was counting on it. 

“Oh, I know I can, Mars.”

“Want to make a bet?” Veronica demanded, edging closer to lean against the wall next to him.

Logan opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again as an inscrutable look settled over his face. Veronica started to question him, but was interrupted by a smooth voice.

“I wanted to thank you both, for your help locating my friend.”

Veronica swallowed her annoyance at being interrupted and smiled at Tallulah Godfrey.

“I’m happy we could help. I hope she’s okay.”

“It’s an uncomfortable situation,” Tallulah acknowledged “But she assures me everything is back to normal.”

Veronica nodded as Tallulah continued to make conversation.

“Are you enjoying the party so far? This kind of event must be right up your alley, with those crack detective skills.”

Veronica elbowed Logan as he snorted in disgust, and responded politely to Tallulah’s question. “Logan and I were just discussing that. We can’t wait to see what kind of mystery Mrs. Casablancas has put together.”

“Well, with Kendall Casablancas involved, you can be sure it will be a good show, at the very least. You two have a good evening.” Tallulah excused herself, making her way smoothly across the crowded room, as Veronica turned back to Logan.

“What?” She demanded at the look of disgust now covering his features. “I was being polite.”

“How can you stand that woman?” Logan demanded “She’s so-”

“So what, Logan? What’s your problem with her?”

“I just don’t trust her. It’s fucked up, Veronica. What’s going on with that friend of hers, she’s hooking to get away from a creepy husband, and Tallulah wants her to go back to that environment?”

“Maybe she doesn’t know what kind of environment Colleen was going back to. You can’t judge her on that, Logan, on who her friends are.”

“Oh, that’s great coming from you, Veronica. She knows. You just have to look at that Colleen woman to know something’s going on. What kind of friend wouldn’t… God, I don’t get you. Why are you so quick to trust her, someone you barely know, but with me, your own… you can’t even—” Logan stopped abruptly, seeming to catch himself before he said more than he wanted as Veronica stared at him in silence, incapable of coming up with a response that didn’t sound hollow, even to her.

“Whatever, Veronica. I’ll see you around.” With a sad smile, Logan brushed past her and walked away. 

Veronica leaned weakly against the wall, regret surging through her as she wondered how on earth she was ever going to find a way to make Logan believe in her.

* * *

Kendall stood at the front of the room and made a great show of tapping her spoon against her glass. 

“Attention, please!” she called, her thin voice cutting through conversations all across the room. Chatter throughout the room slowed to a halt as Veronica made her way to her designated table for the cocktail portion of the event, which she found in the corner of the room furthest from the hub of activity. Somewhat bemused at Kendall’s clear attempt to sleight the Mars family, Veronica settled next to her father.

“Hey,” she said, the tension from their earlier argument still crackling at a low level between them.

Her father nodded and took a sip of the champagne he’d managed to track down. He opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it and looked away. 

“Dad –” she began, but whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a flurry of rustling skirts as Tallulah settled into the empty seat on the other side of Veronica.

“Greetings, fellow pariahs,” she drawled in a clear imitation of the southern persona Kendall had adopted for the evening. Veronica cracked a grin in spite of herself.

“So what did you do to get on the shit-list of Ms. O’Hara?” she asked, glad that at least on person at her table was actually willing to talk to her.

“Oh, your usual garden variety failure to genuflect at the appropriate time,” Tallulah said. “I imagine that the last time I was in town, my lack of ebullience at Kendall’s mermaid costume put me on the black list.”

“But not enough to get you banned entirely,” Veronica observed.

Tallulah arched an eyebrow. “Oh, she knows better than that.”

Before Veronica could inquire as to what, exactly, _that_ meant, a less than lady-like ‘Ahem!’ from Kendall cut off further conversation.

“Everyone, please turn over your name cards and unfold them,” she directed. The sound of rustling paper filled the dining hall. “On the back, you’ll find the names of the characters you’ll be adopting for the evening, along with some information about their relationships with the other characters. You’ll also find your new table assignment for dinner and the mystery.”

Veronica scanned her card as Kendall spoke. Keith, Tallulah and the other guests at her table did the same. 

“I’m the cook,” Tallulah said. “Do you suppose that means I’ll get to wear a hat?”

Veronica snorted. “I’m Susie, the housekeeper’s daughter.”

“Of course you are, darling,” Tallulah laughed. “I hope you brought your feather duster.”

Smiling, Veronica turned to her father. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Frederick,” he said, volunteering no further information.

Tallulah cocked her head, leaning over to stage-whisper, “Maybe he’s the killer and he doesn’t want us to know!”

Veronica shook her head. “Nobody knows who the killer is till the mystery is solved – not even the killer.”

“Victim, then?” Tallulah continued.

“Actually, we have to draw cards for that. The victim and clue cards are in a basket at the main table.” She gestured toward the front of the room where guests were already lined up to draw cards. “Everybody takes one. If you have a V on your card, you’re the victim. Otherwise you’ll just have a list of information that will help you solve the murder. And we get new clue cards every 45 minutes until someone solves the mystery.”

Veronica shoved the explanatory flyer in the center of the table over to Tallulah, who scanned it quickly and then grinned.

“So the killer, or killers, could be any one of us,” Tallulah mused, looking around the room predatorily.

Veronica nodded.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Tallulah stood up and joined the line of people waiting to draw a card.

Veronica stood as well, and turned to her father. “Coming?” she asked.

“I suppose,” Keith murmured.

Veronica sighed. “Look, Dad, about the kidnapping case – ”

Keith shook his head. “Not now, Veronica.” He moved past her to join the line. A bit demoralized, Veronica followed.

When they finally reached the card table, Kendall eyed them with barely restrained glee. “Why, hel- _lo_ , Susie, Frederick. I confess, I love it when the help know their place at the end of the line.”

Sure enough, Veronica noticed, she and Keith were the last two people to draw cards; all of the other patrons were settling in at their new tables and getting to know their fellow players.

“Kendall,” Keith nodded, reaching into the basket to remove a card. “It’s always a pleasure. Say, you’ll never guess who cropped up in my weekend reading. Tall, pious, tough guy with a heart of gold brought up on the wrong side of the tracks. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him lately?”

Kendall’s lips pursed together. With a start, Veronica realized that her father was asking about Patrick Fitzpatrick. Suddenly, Keith’s lack of resistance about coming to the painfully pompous ’09er event of the season made a lot more sense.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, _Frederick_ ,” Kendall hissed, southern accent slipping. “I didn’t know the staff _had_ weekend reading, what with the being too stupid to read.”

Veronica choked off a guffaw at that, and Kendall leveled a glare at her. “Draw, Veronica.”

Rolling her eyes, she reached a hand into the basket and felt around. Nothing.

“There aren’t any more cards,” she said. “I can just share with my dad.” Hopefully.

Kendall let out a rather undignified noise. “No, actually, _Susie_ , you cannot just share with _Frederick_ , who is not in fact your father for the remainder of the evening, because I have seated you at different tables!”

Veronica’s eyes widened. “You what?”

Ignoring her, Kendall continued, “Besides, I’m certain that the number of cards matched the door count.”

Keith shoved the card at Veronica. “It’s fine, Kendall, really. I was just leaving anyway. I’m suddenly feeling the need to head over to church for some good old-fashioned repentance. I don’t suppose I’ll see you there?”

“I can’t imagine why you would!” Kendall snapped, turning to stalk away.

Before her father could do the same, Veronica grabbed his arm. “Why are you grilling Kendall about Patrick Fitzpatrick? What weekend reading? Was it something you found up in Fresno?”

Keith’s poker face dropped into place, and the barrage of questions rolled off of him like droplets of rain as he removed his arm from Veronica’s grip.

“You’ve made it clear that you have your secret cases, Veronica,” he said, voice tight. “So I suppose I get to have mine.”

With that parting shot, he turned and left. Veronica blinked back what she assured herself were not tears. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Logan looking at her with concern, but she couldn’t bring herself to deal with yet another ridiculously complicated relationship that had no business being so in the first place. Instead, she walked over to the seating chart, resolving to do what she was good at doing – solving mysteries. It would be nice to be able to crack a case where someone’s life wasn’t really on the line for once.

Quickly scanning over the chart, Veronica rolled her eyes. Susie, housekeeper’s daughter and generally swell gal, had been relegated to a smaller table to the left of the main table, where Kendall was holding court with what looked to be every passably attractive man in the room. Logan included, Veronica noted with a disgruntled sigh and an unwelcome pang of jealousy, as she made her way over to her seat and joined her new tablemates. Apparently Kendall was bent on reminding her of her place, even in the context of the game.

Settling into her new seat, she was immediately greeted by the perky blonde already seated at the table. “Hi! I’m Lucy Parker for the evening, and this is my husband, ‘James’.”

“Veronica,” she replied, pasting what she hoped was a passably sincere smile on her face “Or, for tonight I guess, Susie, the housekeeper’s daughter.”

“Oh my God! That makes me your mommy! It says here,” Lucy chirped, brandishing her character card under Veronica’s nose, “that I’m the housekeeper and I’ve been with the family for over 15 years. Oh, isn’t this just too cute?”

Lucy’s husband discreetly rolled his eyes, and then turned on a smile as his wife turned to regale him with the existence of her brand new baby girl. At least, Veronica comforted herself, she wasn’t the only one at the table currently experiencing a deep desire to flee for her life.

“James’ card says he’s the ne’er do well son of the Countess’. I _guess_ he must be Kendall’s, from her first husband." Lucy looked bemused at the age discrepancy, but continued to read. "And he’s been having a long-standing affair with the housekeeper. That’s me! He could be your daddy, little Susie.”

“Awesome,” Veronica agreed, biting her lip to keep from responding further. She was saved by the arrival of the waiter. “Food! Great, I’m starving.”

“Oh, me too,” Lucy agreed. “Everything looks great doesn’t it?”

Veronica voiced her agreement as she turned her attention to the shrimp cocktail. At least the food was good – some compensation for the royal mess the night had turned into. She was nodding gratefully to a passing waiter’s offer of champagne when a thud to her left turned her attention away from the bubbly, and onto the woman now apparently unconscious across from her. 

“Oh my God,” Veronica yelped, getting to her feet and moving to help the blond trophy wife. “We need help-”

A hand on her arm stopped Veronica’s panicked attempts to wake Lucy, as James pulled her away.

“Guess who got the victim card?” he asked with a wink, nudging Veronica back into her chair and then raising his voice to the whole room “Someone send for help! It’s the housekeeper, I think she’s dead!” A chorus of exaggerated gasps echoed around the room as James resumed his seat with a triumphant grin, unceremoniously retrieving his fork from under the "victim’s" chin and tucking back into his mashed potatoes.

Veronica narrowed her eyes as James continued to toss smirks around the table about what a good little liar his "Honey Bun" was. Something wasn’t right. Lucy had managed to land face-first, just to the side of her plate. On the one hand, it was an well played, because, six inches to the right would have had her breathing in the _grande puree de pomme d’terre_ \- best mashed potatoes Veronica had ever eaten – but… why not just faint artfully in her chair? Fall into the arms of her loving husband, or the smooth riverboat gambler on her left? And… was she actually breathing at all? Just as Veronica leaned in and opened her mouth, a new scream cracked the amused party chatter like an egg.

“Oh, I do declare! I _do DECLARE_!”

The snap of Kendall’s fan opening was like a shot, quickly echoed down the length of the table by other society wives. Kendall now stood, swaying beatifically at the head of the table. The fan beat like a humming bird just under the swell of her breast – it wouldn’t do to obscure the view – as she leaned towards Logan, dabbing at her eyes with the lace handkerchief fluttering in her other hand.

“Oh, what a thing, what a _thing_ to happen on this _happy_ occasion! My, dear, dear housekeeper! However will I cope if something has happened to her?”

As the question hung in the air, Logan blinked at her cleavage, now just one foot away, and then took a bored bite of his filet mignon.

Kendall was quick to smooth her resulting frown and sway gracefully towards Peete, a young, unmarried plastic surgeon, seated – quite coincidentally, to be sure – on her other side. He seemed to be rather more appreciative of the view than Logan had been.

“Oh, m’darlin’, you are such a fine and learned man! Won’t you see to my friend?”

“By my troth, fair lady!” Peete sprang to his feet and took the license of drama to clasp Kendall to him bodily. “If it is in God’s grace to save her! I swear, it _shall_ done, m’lady!”

Veronica tried not to gag as Lucy was carried away by three of the men.

“Do you think they realize they’re abusing two dialects separated by a good 600 years?” 

The whisper came from Tallulah, who had rebelled against the seating chart and dropped into the newly emptied chair across from Veronica. Veronica’s gag turned into a giggle, which she then covered with a full body cough. 

Tallulah shoved a glass of water at her as Peete exited the room with a joyful shout of “Tally ho!”

“Closer that time, at least,” Tallulah sighed.

Veronica smothered a grin as she surveyed the room again. Many of the guests were standing now, pouring over their clue cards in small groups. Logan was propping up a wall, busy _not_ looking at her as Dick stood beside him, looking faintly green. James was nowhere to be seen, but then, he had probably followed his wife out of the room.

Kendall struck a pose in the grand doorway, facing the crowd of guests. She held the fan at her hips and allowed the handkerchief to fall from a clenched fist at her temple.

“Will this house ever escape the stigma of treachery and murder?”

The slamming of the side door punctuated the exit of both Casablancases from the room.

* * *

Veronica scanned over the list of clues carefully. According to the card, the killer was someone "Countess Kendall" had known for a relatively short time. He or she was wealthy, and had come into the money through an inheritance.

She looked up at Tallulah. “Don’t you think it’s sort of strange that the victim was chosen at random? It’s going to be hard to assign motive when the murderee was literally pulled out of a basket.”

The other woman smirked. “I think Kendall actually designed this herself. I mean, last time I checked, Scarlet O’Hara wasn’t requiring people to call her ‘Countess.’ Maybe if you snort some botox and squint, you’ll be able to follow her train of thought.”

“This is ridiculous,” Veronica replied, tossing her card onto the table in disgust. “What kind of murder mystery has a motiveless killer? There’s a… a methodology to solving this sort of thing! You look for patterns. You look for motives. You identify suspects, and you follow them around.” Her voice rose in pitch as her frustration with the entire evening came to a head. “There’s _research_ involved! You can’t just wander around blindly, waiting for the killer to corner you!”

“You sound like quite the crime-solving expert… Susie,” Tallulah interrupted.

Veronica’s response came out far harsher than she intended it to. “I am.”

The other woman blinked, and suddenly the appraising look that Veronica had seen on her face when they first met back at the costume party reappeared. “I suppose you are, at that,” Tallulah said slowly. She stood and grabbed her purse. With a quick murmur about a previously forgotten errand, she turned on her heel and strode off. Her phone was open and at her ear before she made it to the door.

Veronica stared after her, more than a little puzzled; however, her contemplation was quickly cut short by a raucous human conflagration several feet away.

“Dude,” Dick laughed, voice thick with champagne. “Your girlfriend’s flipping her shit.”

She anticipated the reply before Logan voiced it, but knowing it was coming did her little good. “She’s not my girlfriend.” Logan’s tone was impassive, and Veronica scrunched her eyes shut.

“Whatever,” Dick replied, voice growing fainter as Logan evidently hauled him away.

Veronica stood so quickly her chair rocked back on two legs. Several people seated nearby shot curious glances in her direction. 

“I’m just going to… check on the victim,” she muttered, and then practically ran from the room.

* * *

Veronica stood in the hallway through which the so-called victim had been carted half an hour earlier and contemplated the catastrophe that had become her evening – or for that matter, her life of late. Fight with Dad? Check. Fight with Logan? Check. Public meltdown? Checkity check check. The only thing less appealing than being at Kendall’s house was the thought of being at her own.

Content though she was, for the moment, to stand in a corner and meditate upon her dejection, the sound of a man’s voice drifting from a room down the hall penetrated her gloom. While she couldn’t make out what the man was saying, the tension cutting in and out of the hushed tones was clear.

Softly moving closer to the door, she began to make out specific words. 

“… the way it had to be, Marian. I had to do it.”

Veronica’s eyes narrowed. Was this the killer, making a deathbed confession, she mused? Unlikely, as the killer himself probably didn’t even realize his own culpability yet, thanks to Kendall’s convoluted scripting. Intrigued, Veronica crept closer. The door was a tiny bit ajar, and through the crack, she saw the prone form of the woman who had face-planted at the table right across from her – apparently either very much in character, or very much unconscious. Veronica sucked in her breath as a man – the one who had been talking, she assumed – loomed above the woman. He leaned over her, hands moving across her face, and then knelt to kiss her forehead. Veronica jumped back as the man straightened and turned to leave. The door swung open, and she found herself face-to-face with the woman’s husband.

Shock colored his face, and his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just… looking for clues,” she said. “Everyone’s combing over the crime scene – I thought maybe I’d gain the advantage by taking a look at the victim.” At his suspicious look, she continued, “She really _is_ quite the actress, isn’t she?”

He stared at her for a long moment, and then finally spoke. “I think you’ll have better luck in the dining hall,” he said slowly.

Further conversation was forestalled as Kendall’s southern drawl echoed down the hallway. “Yoo hoo! Time for the next batch of clues!”

Reluctantly, Veronica turned to follow Kendall back down the hallway, noting that James – or whatever his name really was – was following as well. As soon as they entered the dining room, Veronica wormed her way into the throng of people hovering around the card basket, and then doubled back for the hallway. Once she made her way through the double doors, she broke into a sprint.

She quickly reached the room in which Lucy – Marian – whoever was sleeping, and flung open the door. She gasped as she got a close look at the woman in the bed. Her skin was pale and waxy-looking. Clearly, this was more than merely an Emmy-worthy performance. Only the whistling sounds of weak breath passing through the woman’s lips assured Veronica that she was still alive. Realizing that she’d left her cell in the dining room, Veronica looked desperately around the room for a landline. While the room appeared to be without one, there was a man’s coat hanging over the chair in the corner – the one Marian’s husband had been wearing earlier.

Veronica pawed desperately through the pockets in the hopes that the man had left his phone in the jacket, but the only thing she found was a crumpled scrap of paper. She pulled it out, identifying it as the same cardstock on which Kendall had printed the clue cards. Unfolding the paper, Veronica’s heart began to pound. Written across the clues in vivid red ink was the letter ‘V.’

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Veronica dove into the closet, pulling it shut behind her just as ‘James’ opened the door to the room. He peered through the doorway, clearly looking to see if she’d returned. Finding the room empty, he withdrew, closing the door behind him gently.

Veronica held her breath and counted to fifty before leaving the closet. Fearful that if she waited any longer, Marian would die, Veronica moved silently from the closet and crept to the door. Pressing her ear against the wood, she listened for any sign that the husband was lingering in the hallway. Silence greeted her, and with a deep breath, she slowly pulled the door open. The empty hallway stared back at her, and she stepped over the threshold.

A low voice halted her in her tracks.

“Veronica fucking Mars.” The man chuckled. “Of all the people to show up at Kendall Casablancas’ little homicidal ho-down, it had be you.”

She began to run.

* * *

Logan rolled his eyes and attempted to explain himself for the third time.

“Dick.” He paused, waiting for at least _that_ much information to be processed. Dick nodded, and he continued. “You. Are. The. Killer.”

Dick swayed back and forth in his chair, hand fumbling unsuccessfully for more alcohol. Logan held up the second clue card inches from Dick’s face. “Do you want me to read it to you again?”

“I want you to convince that hot redhead we were scoping out to go home with me. Or at least, you know, make the three-backed monster in the closest or whatever.”

“It’s the beast with – ” Logan cut himself off with a groan. “Nevermind. Just look at the card, Dick. It says here that the killer is from London.”

“But I’m not from London,” Dick said. “I’m from Neptune.”

“ _Your card_ says you’re from London, Dick. Your card also says your advances towards the Countess were spurned, which gives you motive.”

“I never wanted to hit that ass!” Dick insisted loudly. “Bitch wishes I’d show her a good fucking time.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Logan said dryly. “But you’re also wealthy through an inheritance, and you haven’t known Kendall that long.”

A brief sliver of rationality wormed its way into Dick’s mind. “But… that’s not on the card. That stuff’s just true.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed. “But it’s also true that Kendall knows as much about putting together a murder mystery as you know about baking a dumpling. Face it, Dick. You’re the killer.”

Dick shook his head, looking almost forlorn. “Dude…” He gaped up at Logan. “That’s not cool.”

Logan raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Forget it. I gave you the chance to throw yourself upon the mercy of the court. I’m forced to turn you in.”

“You’re actually, like, _enjoying_ this,” Dick observed as Logan stood. “That’s fucking weird.”

“Oh Countess!” Logan called. “I do believe I’ve identified the foul murderer in our midst.”

Kendall pranced over to Logan, entwining herself around his arm as she effused, “My _hero_!”

Quieting the room again with her shrillness, Kendall implored the clever and dashing young ‘William’ to reveal the identity of the vile killer, so that the forces of justice might visit vengeance upon his treacherous soul. 

Brandishing the latest clue card, Logan cleared his throat. “The killer, oh esteemed guests, is none other than…” Here he paused for dramatic effect, and was about to finger Dick when the doors to the dining room crashed inward, and Veronica spilled forward onto the floor. Marian's husband tumbled in after her, tripping over Veronica’s kneeling form and sprawling downward.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Kendall snapped. “What is it now, Veronica? Can’t you just fuck him in the guest bedroom like a normal person?”

Logan wrenched his arm away from Kendall’s with ferocity, jumping from the stage-like area where they’d been standing and bounding towards the blonde girl jumbled upon the floor. Veronica struggled to her feet, only to have ‘James’ grab her ankle and send her tumbling again. She kicked outward, heel connecting squarely with the center of the man’s face and snapping his head back. Blood gushed from his nose, and he let out a sound like a snarl.

“Fucking _bitch_!” he grunted.

“Easy, Larry,” a man said, kneeling beside ‘James.’

Logan attempted to elbow his way through the crowd surrounding them as Veronica called out, “Somebody call an ambulance!”

“He’ll be fine,” a man’s voice answered. “You just broke his nose.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “He’s trying to kill his wife!”

“Veronica, _it’s just a game_ ,” Kendall screeched. “I knew I never should have invited you, even if I do owe your pathetic father a favor. You ruin _everything_!”

“I’d better go check on Lucy,” said Peete, the doctor who had moved her earlier. He moved briskly toward the hallway.

Near tears, Veronica grabbed the arm of the person closest to her. “You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s real. He poisoned his wife.” Logan finally succeeded in working his way through the crowd in time to see Veronica brandish a crumpled clue card.

“Look!” she said, voice insistent. “I saw him in the room apologizing to his wife, and then I found this in his jacket pocket. It’s the victim card!”

“So?” Kendall said, arms crossed, still pouting on the stage.

“So this is why you were missing a card, Kendall,” Veronica replied. “Marian never pulled the victim card. Her husband just made sure no one else would get it, either.”

Peete reemerged into the crowd, pale and breathing hard. “She’s right,” he said. “Lucy’s not breathing. I’ve called an ambulance.”

At that moment, Kendall decided the wisest course of action would be to faint. And so she did.

The crowd around Veronica thinned as several people rushed to Kendall’s side. A few men stayed to hold down Larry, who had begun attempting to struggle free.

“I still don’t get it,” Logan said, moving to stand next to Veronica. “How did he think he was going to get away with it?”

“Well, she’s in anaphylactic shock,” Peete said. “She’s having a severe allergic reaction, probably to something she ate.” The distant sound of sirens grew audible, and the doctor withdrew from the conversation to wait for the paramedics.

Understanding spread across Logan's features. “He could have just said it was something she ate here,” he said, eyes widening. “Something she would have known to avoid at home.” He dropped to his knees, leaning over to peer into Larry’s face. “You’re a bastard.”

“Logan, don't.” Veronica pulled him up. “It’s not worth it.”

“Fuck you,” Larry wheezed out through his satisfyingly damaged face. “You’ll never know what it’s like to get fired – to not be able to support your family. You’ll sail through life on your murdering father’s black Amex, all the while acting like a self-righteous son of a bitch who thinks he’s better than I am. If anyone’s a bastard, it’s you.”

Logan got in three kicks before Veronica managed to drag him away. When they reached the front porch, Logan flung her arms off, glaring daggers at her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped. “You don’t kick a man who’s bleeding on the ground!”

“What’s wrong with _me_?” Logan laughed bitterly. “He just tried to kill his wife – hell, maybe he did – and then he most likely was going to kill you. And I’m the asshole here? You’re a fucking piece of work, Veronica.”

With that comment, he was gone. Veronica sank down to the ground, arms curling around her knees, oblivious to the frantically swarming activity rushing past her as paramedics and others scurried in and out of the house. It was a very long time before she moved again.


	13. Sin and Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica hits the road to ComicCon to help out Cliff. Loretta Cancun wears spandex!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [mastermia](http://mastermia.livejournal.com/) and [rindee](http://rindee.livejournal.com/)  
> Their notes: _Special thanks to mutinousmuse, ladydisdain225, and shazam23 for their thoughtful and insightful betas, and a special thanks to taken_with_you and rejeneration for being fabulous sounding boards and all-things-VM resources._
> 
>  
> 
> _rindee would like to add an extra-special thanks to mastermia , who, in addition to co-authoring, beta’d all the way from Australia. mastermia wants to thank rindee for stepping in on short notice and doing an awesome job while she went to Australia and had fun._

Chin in hand, Veronica stared at the phone as if she could, with enough concentration, force it to tell her what to say to fix things with Logan. As she replayed their fight in her head, she realized she had, once again, pushed him away. But despite the evening's ending, she couldn’t forget the too-brief moment when they'd shared a laugh over Dick. Regardless of what either one said, there was no denying their connection, one that could change from anger to understanding to passion in a heartbeat. The longer she meditated, the more she realized she missed … all of it. Logan said he only wanted to be friends, but she wanted more. She just needed to find the right words to tell him.

* * *

Veronica finished her apology and held her breath, staring at Logan, waiting for his response. She gasped as he said 'I love you' and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him as he murmured ‘Veronica’ and trailed kisses down the side of her neck. Trying to get even closer, she arched her neck. He took it as an invitation to explore the tender spot under her ear, causing her to almost purr in satisfaction as he suckled gently. Somewhere in the distance she heard the ringing of a telephone, but ignored it as his tongue dipped into her collarbone. She silently urged him lower, but as he started to obey, her daydream dissolved and she heard her father yell, “Veronica, can you get the phone?”

Sighing heavily, she picked up the receiver and all but barked, “Mars Investigations.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Cliff's voice was smooth as honey, and she could picture the quirked eyebrow at the other end of the line.

“Hey, sorry, I was thinking of something else.” As she reached for the bottle of water on her desk, she swore she was going to do whatever was necessary to reconnect with Logan as soon as possible. She snapped back to the present and realized she'd missed what Cliff had been saying. “Um, sorry, can you repeat that, please?”

“I. Have. A. Case. For. You.” he said with exaggerated slowness.

“What kind of case?” she asked warily, something in his voice warning her she might not like his answer. “Is it Weevil?”

“No, nothing like that. I told him you were still working on it.” He paused, and Veronica's suspicion deepened. “It's a pro bono case. I need a favor for a friend.”

“I thought Dad was your only friend?”

“I'm hurt, V. I have a plethora of friends you know nothing about.”

“Hmm. How good of a friend are we talking?” she said, curiosity coloring her voice.

“Good enough for me to call in a marker.” 

“Let me guess, she works at the Seventh Veil?”

“Now, V, you know I like to support single moms.” 

“Yes, you do. A dollar at a time.” Laughter was evident in her voice.

“Veronica, I'm a gentleman. I use fives,” he said in mock hurt.

“And I'm sure the working women of America appreciate that very much. What's the favor?”

“My friend has a son who goes to Neptune. He seems to have lost a comic book, and he needs your help getting it back.”

“He lost a comic book? Shouldn’t he go to Lost and Found?”

“Your comedic stylings never fail to amuse me,” he said dryly. “It's more complex than that. He drew a comic book, and apparently, his friend has stolen the only copy. That big comic book convention is this weekend, and he thinks his friend has a publisher who might be interested. We need you to get it back so her son can get the contract and make his mother very proud.”

“It's a comic book. Can't he just draw another one with his big box of crayolas?” 

“Veronica, millions of dollars are spent within the comic book industry every year. The convention is the only opportunity he'll have to get it looked at, and if it's as good as he thinks, he could use the money for college. He's a good kid, and he shouldn’t have to wait another year,” he cajoled.

“Cliff, I don't know anything about comic books. What am I supposed to do?”

“I know you've gone to Geekapalooza before, and that head of yours is always full of crazy plans. You could go, find the thief, get back the book and save the day. I know you like to help the underdog. Come on, V. You owe me.”

“Yes, I do.” The last time she'd gone to the San Diego Comic Con was the summer before Lilly died. Aaron had been promoting a movie at the time, and the four of them, she and Duncan, Logan and Lilly, had gotten total VIP treatment. In fact, Logan could probably still get them behind the scenes, and having to ask him would give them something to talk about as they explored their new _friendship_. “Send my new client over. He's going to have to tell me exactly what to look for.”

“See, V. I knew you were all about truth, justice and the American way.”

“That's Superman, Cliff.”

“Whatever,” he said as he hung up.

* * *

Once again, Veronica eyed the telephone thoughtfully. Supposedly, she and Logan had broken up and were trying to be just friends, but he certainly hadn't acted 'just' friendly when Dick ogled her at Kendall's party. Although she hadn't talked to Logan since that night, Cliff had inadvertently given her the perfect excuse for a chat, and maybe a visit. Even though she was anxious to see Logan, she hated asking for him for a favor, especially one involving the use, or abuse, of his family's notoriety. Sighing, she reluctantly dug out her cell and hit '2'. 

“Logan's house of pain, what's your poison, hemlock or arsenic?”

“Logan?”

“Veronica. My favorite sleuth. How've you been?” he asked, sarcasm slathered over every word. Suddenly unsure of herself, Veronica faltered, briefly speechless. In the background, she could hear the loud thunk of the Beach Bimbo Volleyball video game, and Dick exhorting his “girls” to “dig for it, baby.” Apparently, Logan was consoling himself with video games and other hijinks involving Casablancas and his unquenchable craving for anything adolescent. 

“Veronica? Was there something you wanted, or did you just call to hear me and Dick breathe heavily?”

“N…no, Logan. I called to see you how are,” she confessed. “And to ask a favor,” she amended guiltily. 

“It's always the same with you, Mars. Business before pleasure, although, in your case, it's business before anything, and I'm just an afterthought. What do you need this time?”

“I … I just … I need …” _I miss you_ , the voice in her head prompted, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. 

“Spit it out, Mars. Dick thinks he's kicking my ass right now, and I'd like to disabuse him of the notion as soon as possible.”

“Where are you, Logan?”

“The beach house. Why?”

“Can I come over to see you? Just for a minute?”

“You must want a really big favor to be willing to grace us with your presence,” he observed. “C'mon over. Maybe Dick'll let you play with him.”

Disappointed by Logan's antagonism, Veronica hung up and grabbed her bag. “Hey, Dad,” she called through the doorway. “I have to go out for a while.”

“Fine, Honey,” Keith replied. Veronica waited for the usual 'third degree' but none was forthcoming. 

“If Cliff's client comes by to see me, ask him to wait, okay?” she added. 

“Mm hmm. Okay, sweetie,” he responded absently, but Veronica could tell he wasn't really listening. Has everyone gone completely nuts, she wondered as she flounced out the door.

* * *

Logan's noxious-yellow Xterra seemed to mock her as she walked past, reminding her of happier times when she and Logan couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and couldn’t stay out of its ample and accommodating backseat. She stared at the door, trying to decide whether or not she could enter without knocking. Before she could make up her mind, it swung open and she was confronted by a grinning Dick Casablancas. “Ronnie, baby. 'Bout time you came to hang out with the big boys. Did you bring your 'A' game?” he leered as she rolled her eyes and brushed past without comment.

“Logan?” she called, her tone sharper than she'd intended. “Are you here?”

“He's in the den, Ronnie,” Dick announced, following her. “The den of inequity. We renamed it because Logan's a free man now.” As he spoke, Dick raised his fist to the ceiling and pumped his hips enthusiastically. 

As she looked quizzically at Dick's gyrations, they could clearly hear Logan's exasperated groan coming from general direction of the sofa. Deciding Dick's stupidity didn't merit a response, Veronica marched into the living room and dropped her messenger bag on the floor at Logan's feet. “Can you pause that, please? We need to talk.”

Without taking his eyes off the huge plasma screen hanging on the wall, Logan nodded “Uh huh. Be right with you, just as soon as I - oh, dammit. Not again.”

“That's lame, dude. You gotta get through this level so you can groove the next one,” Dick instructed from over Veronica's shoulder. “Here. Give it.” 

“Riiight.” Wrinkling his forehead, Logan gazed forlornly at the screen, ignoring Dick's outstretched hand. “You wanted something, Mars? What was it?” The frown line between his eyes grew deeper, and he tapped his fingers against the plastic box dangling from his hand. “Oh, yeah.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Talk. You wanted to. Hmpf.” He switched into his Yoda voice. "Want something, she does -” 

Without warning, Veronica snatched the controller from his hand and dumped it on the coffee table. “Logan,” she said stiffly, her voice halfway between a plea and a demand. “I need --”

“Wait. I know this one. You need something, from me, but it's just business. C'mon,” he snapped his fingers again. “Out with it, Veronica. Whaddya want?”

“Can we talk in the other room?” she asked, pointedly glaring at Dick, who'd plopped down next to Logan and restarted the game. 

Feigning carelessness, Logan studied Veronica, his deceptively lazy gaze traveling up and down her body. He could tell, from the hand anxiously jammed into her back pocket, and the way she gnawed her lip, that she was apprehensive. As he rose to stand next to her, she flinched and stepped backward. Reflexively, he grabbed her elbow to keep her from tripping over the body board lying on the floor behind her. She gasped as his warm fingers wrapped around her bare arm. 

Perplexed by her hot-and-cold vibe, Logan steered her toward the stairs. “I'll be back in a minute,” he flung over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, dude. Don't take too long. Hit it and quit it, 'k? We got things to do.”

As he guided her into his bedroom, Logan could feel her tremble slightly underneath his hand. He released her arm, instantly wishing he hadn't. “What's up, Veronica?” he asked gently. 

She turned quickly, surprising them both, and flattened her hand against his naked chest. The thud of his heart under her fingers almost made her forget why she was there. “I need a favor,” she murmured, looking up at him from underneath her bangs. “And,” she leaned in, aligning her body against his. “I miss you,” she breathed, running her tongue over her lips before rising to her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his. Disregarding the warning bells trilling in his head, Logan bent and opened his mouth to her, his arm curling around her waist. 

“Veronica,” he whispered, one hand drifting from her back to her curvy behind as he drew her closer. Slouched against the door, his other hand tangled in her flaxen hair, he shuddered, trying to remember why this _wasn’t_ a good idea. He stiffened, feeling the soft skin of her belly rubbing through his wafer-thin board shorts. “God, I can't do this again,” he moaned as he nudged her away. Relinquishing his grip, he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her soundly before letting go. Shaking his head mournfully, he moved to the other side of the room, putting as much distance as possible between them. 

“I'm not a plaything, Veronica,” he said in a hoarse, clenched voice. “You can't just pick me up and put me down whenever you feel like it.” 

“I . . . I'm not, Logan.” Bewildered, she stared at the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes. “I'm trying. Trying to make more room for you in my life.”

Ignoring her glistening eyes and inviting words, he continued to regard her impassively. “Is this,” he gestured to his clearly excited state. “What you came for? Or was there something else you wanted?” he asked, teeth gritted. 

Abruptly switching gears, she took a deep breath. “No. I came to see you, but I need a favor too.”

“Ask away, Mars.” He spun away from her, and paced the room like a caged tiger, picking up discarded clothes and flinging them into the corner. 

“You remember, after freshman year, when the four of us went to that fest - what was it called -”

“I don't know, Veronica. What was it called?” he interrupted, his voice muffled as he yanked a tee over his head. 

“I’ll tell you, if you'd shut up and let me finish, Logan.”

“But this is so much more fun,” he smirked, impatiently gesturing for her to get on with it. 

“Comic Con. You remember. Lilly and Dunc -”

“Yeah, I remember. What about it?” His eyes darkened suspiciously. 

“Do you still have contacts in geekdom? I need to pretend to be a comic book publisher, so I need some all-access passes and a table at the convention.”

Arms crossed protectively, he waited a beat, watching Veronica squirm before asking, “What's in it for me? Isn't that the way it works? You do something for me, and I return the favor.”

“I don't know Logan,” she said tightly, her blue eyes cold and hard. “I don't know if that’s how it works. What would you like me to do for you?”

“Besides leave, you mean? You know, Veronica, once upon a time, under other circumstances, I'd have been delighted by your offer, but now….” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I tell you what, I’ll call Sabina and have her hook you up for Comic Con, and we’ll just say you owe me one. Again.”

“Thank you, Logan,” she replied, relieved and grateful but clearly disappointed. 

“Was there anything else?” he grumbled. 

“No.” Veronica shook her head. “I guess that's it.”

“I’ll have Sabina call you.”

“Okay.” She nodded quickly and tried to smile. She reached for the doorknob. 

“Veronica.” 

“Yes, Logan?”

“I don't know what you're doing at Comic Con, but be careful, will you? If you need help, call me, okay?”

“Thanks.”

* * *

Brian Wixom tentatively walked into Mars Investigation just as Veronica finished talking to Sabina Eckhardt, an assistant from the Echolls family's PR firm. Even though Brian recognized her, Veronica wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize him; he was an underclassman, after all. But when she looked at Brian, his all-too-average, California blonde look spoke volumes about Cliff's taste in women. 

“Veronica, thank you so much for helping me!” Brian said earnestly. “I freaked out when I heard Rod had a comic book he was taking to the Con. I can't believe my friend stabbed me in the back like this, but Cliff says you’ll be able to help.” He looked at her with adoring puppy eyes, and Veronica resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.

“Why didn’t you just ask Rod to give you back the pages?” she asked evenly.

“Oh, I tried, but he said I didn’t appreciate his work, and he'd show me.” He smiled conspiratorially at her. “As if he was capable of drawing a book. He's just an inker, you know.”

“A what?” she asked, mystified.

“An inker isn’t the one who actually draws the pages, he just goes over the artist’s drawing with pen. Rod thinks that makes him creative.”

“He just traces what you drew? Well if he can't actually draw, then how is anyone going to believe he drew the comic?”

He shrugged and evaded her eyes. “Well, a good inker can add shading and depth to a drawing, but the fundamental idea is all mine, and I want my pages back.”

“Okay, why would he take the pages and try to sell them as his?” Brian suddenly became fascinated with his shoelaces, and Veronica was forced to repeat herself to get his attention. “Brian, how did he get the pages?”

“Call me Bri, everyone does.”

“Bri,” she ground out, “How did he get the pages in the first place?”

“Well, I kind of asked him to ink them. And then the post came out about Marvel looking at unsigned artists' work, and I saw he'd gotten a slot. After that, I went and asked for my pages back, and he refused.”

Veronica looked at him steadily. “But you asked Rod to help you finish the pages? Doesn’t that make the work both of yours?”

“He stole them, and I want them back,” he said stubbornly, arms crossed. 

Veronica had to laugh to herself; he looked so much like an angry toddler. All that was missing was a foot stomp and she would have a good old-fashioned temper tantrum on her hands. Prudently, she changed the subject. “What’s the comic about?”

Brian's face lit up. “It’s about a super hero!”

“Aren’t they all?” she asked, lifting her water bottle. “What’s his power?” 

Brian leaned forward in his chair. “It’s actually about a girl. She's a mild mannered computer programmer by day, but at night she becomes a magenta-haired superhero who uses her computer to solve crime. Her name is Sin!”

His words almost caused her to choke. “Cin?” she repeated dazedly, an odd look on her face. 

“Yes, and the original pages have Easter eggs buried in them, to let the real Sin know I wrote the book for her.”

“For her?” Veronica repeated, sounding like a parrot. 

Brian nodded excitedly. “Yes, because when she sees the comic, she’ll instantly know I wrote it for her, and once she sees the messages I left her, she’ll realize we belong together. The messages can prove I actually drew it.” He handed over a list. “See? I wrote them all down. If I hadn’t drawn the pages, I wouldn’t know where the hidden messages are.”

Veronica looked at the list of 20 items he had given her. “How many pages is the comic?” she asked wearily.

“Why?” he asked innocently.

“Never mind. Why did Cliff think I could help you?”

“Oh, I told him about my great idea, and how Sin could right wrong with a mere stroke of her laptop. He laughed and said he knew just the person to help me.” The adoring look was back in his eye. 

“I bet he did.” she said faintly. As she plotted how to get back at Cliff, she saw the look on his face and wondered what super power he would be giving her in the sequel.

* * *

“Cliff, I met your puppy, and I think I can solve his problem, but I need your help.”

“Oh?” Now it was his turn to sound suspicious.

“Rod knows me from school, so I doubt he’ll hand over the pages to me. But there will be lots of comic book companies represented, and I'm sure he will be more than happy to show his pages to a prospective publisher. So I need someone to play a slightly shady executive, and I realized I knew the perfect person.”

“Slightly shady? You insult me again. I can be _entirely_ shady if necessary. Of course I’ll do anything I can for the poor boy.”

“Boy, have you got it bad.” Veronica smiled at his resigned sigh.

“You have no idea.” Hearing Cliff's reply, her smile turned to outright laughter, but his pained silence was her only response. 

“We need someone to dress in costume and wear a magenta wig. Any idea who might help with that?”

“I think I know just the person,” he said confidently.

* * *

Having completed the necessary arrangements for her Comic Con escapade, Veronica returned to trying to find the bastard who'd shot her father. Extracting from their hiding place the stills she'd pulled from the Vixen security video, she inspected them. Finally, she had a face, and a singularly identifiable tattoo design from the Book of Kells. She glanced nervously toward Keith's office, but he seemed preoccupied, so she began running the hit man’s image through the databases, looking for a name, an address, something to lead her to him. 

Nothing popped when she ran the tattoo through the Balboa County Sheriff's offenders database. And there was nothing on ARJIS. Wait - dark hair, pale skin, Celtic tattoo - maybe he's a member of the Aryan Brotherhood; they used Celtic symbols as a kind of code, she thought. Where was that database for known gang members? She scrolled through her list of law enforcement sites until she found it. Twenty minutes later, she'd found two possible names: Tommy Joe Campbell and Billy Richardson, both of whom had lengthy criminal records and were known to have Celtic tattoos. Only one, Campbell, had ties to southern California, and, fortuitously, his last known address was in San Diego. Printing out the address, and a map, Veronica grabbed her bag, cell phone, and camera. It was time for a road trip. 

She would have liked to ask Logan to accompany her; she wasn’t sure what the San Diego neighborhood was like, and if Campbell was the guy who'd shot her father, he was clearly not to be trifled with, but after her earlier, unsuccessful encounter with Logan, she was sure she didn’t want to involve him in any case she was working. “Dad?” she called in her best ‘innocent’ voice. “I'm going over to Hearst to pick up some course stuff. I’ll probably be a while.”

“Are you going to be home for dinner, Honey?” Keith queried, knowing he'd been too absent too often lately. 

“I'm not sure. Don’t wait for me, though.”

“Okay, Kiddo. Have fun. Be nice and make some new friends, alright?” Keith sighed. Ever since he'd aborted their trip to New York, Veronica had been distant, uncooperative, and surly. He didn’t want to further alienate her by demanding to know her whereabouts at all times, even though his current investigation suggested he should. 

“Um hmm. I will. See you later, Dad.”

* * *

For the tenth time in the hour, Veronica stared impatiently at her watch. It was 7:45 p.m., and still no sign of the inhabitant of the seedy, dilapidated shack. She rechecked her map and print out, but she was still at the right address. It would be dark in less than an hour, and she wasn’t crazy about being in the area after nightfall. She grabbed her camera and began to snap the exterior. As she worked, a tall, seemingly emaciated man, wearing torn, grubby jeans, shuffled into her viewfinder. Focusing in for a moment, she sucked in a breath. It looked like Campbell. She tuned in on his forearm, and there it was, the Celtic tattoo. Jackpot. As she brought the sight up from his arm to his face, she realized he wasn’t as grungy as he appeared from a distance. His face and hands were immaculate, and his jeans, though ripped, were clean and had been pressed. 

“Okay,” she thought. “It's part of his cover. Not bad.” She watched as he dug into his pocket for keys, shifting the six-pack of brown bottles from one hand to the other before he opened the door. As he went in, he carefully looked up and down the street, as if he was worried about someone following him. Or was waiting for someone. 

Veronica wasn’t sure whether he was expecting someone, so she stayed in her car for a few minutes, winding her fingers in her ponytail as she waited and watched. When she saw the blue glow of the television, she figured he was in for the night, or at least, for a while. She removed her taser from her bag and stuck it in the pocket of her hoodie. She tied a bandana over her shiny hair, put on some dorky-looking, black frame glasses, and picked up the clipboard she'd brought as part of her disguise.

Locking up, she carefully glanced both ways before crossing to the house. Taking a deep breath, she rapped confidently on the door, plastering on her best 'harmless blonde' smile just as he answered. “Hi. I'm from the community cleanup committee, and we're taking a survey, if you have a just a minute, I'd like to come in and get your opinion.”

“I haven't lived here too long,” he mumbled. “I don't have an opinion.” He started to shut the scarred wooden door in her face.

“Everyone has an opinion,” she said perkily, catching the door with the palm of her hand. “It’ll just take a moment, honest,” she pleaded, trying to appear as guileless as possible. “Just a few, quick questions and I’ll be outta your hair. Please. I only have to finish two more, and it's getting dark.”

He glared suspiciously before begrudgingly shoving the door. “Okay, then, but only a minute. The game's about to start.”

“Just a minute or two, I promise,” she swore. He moved aside to allow her to step into the room, lifting the bottle to his mouth to take a swig. As he turned to shut the door, Veronica pulled her taser and zapped him on the shoulder, once to stun him, and again, to drop him. He staggered and toppled, his bottle falling and spilling beer across the entryway. “Ooo. I wonder if that’s gonna stain?” she mused to the slumped, now-silent man. Quickly, she assessed the room, searching for something to cuff him to. 

Sitting immediately to her right was a shabby, beigish recliner, and next to it was a wobbly tray table with an open bag of pretzels on it, along with the TV remote. The recliner sat at an angle facing a massive-but-rickety faux wood entertainment center. The shelves of the entertainment center held a 35-inch television, a half-dead plant that looked a lot like marijuana, and a cracked black boom box of indeterminate age. 

Although he was skinny, he was still too large for her to drag very far, so Veronica settled on the entertainment center, figuring if he tried to wiggle loose, it would fall on him and, at the very least, slow him down. She stepped cautiously over his now-prone body, gingerly took his arm and lugged him toward the shelves. It took almost three minutes for her to move him, inch-by-inch, close enough to thread the cuffs around the base and click them on his wrist. He stirred a little and mumbled something, but didn’t wake up. 

Not wanting to touch anything, she again inspected the room. The wall opposite the door was one of those half-wall-cum-countertops and she could see a tiny, grimy galley kitchen beyond it. Taking the bandana from her head, she wrapped it around her hand and, walking into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator. Inside was a greasy, half-opened pizza box, a single white carton that looked like it had once held some type of takeout, and four capped bottles of beer. She put her covered hand around one, set it on the counter, and surveyed the area for an opener. Locating a church key, she opened the bottle and wiped off the opener before returning it to its spot on the chipped formica. 

She took a quick gulp, grimaced, and poured the rest of it over Campbell’s face. He sputtered, gagged, and, as he regained consciousness, began to curse. She watched impassively until he stopped swearing. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Are you done yet, Mister?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You don't know who I am? That's funny, because I know exactly who you are. What I don't know, what I want to know, is who hired you to shoot Keith Mars.” 

“I don't know you, lady, and I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you let me go and get outta here, I’m willing to call it even and not hurt you.”

“Let me get this straight. If I let you go, you're not going to hurt me. Gee, thanks. I feel much better now, but, really, shouldn’t you be threatening me and telling me I'm gonna pay for this?” Veronica sneered. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think you're in any position to bargain right now, so while we’re hangin’ out, let me show you some pictures.” She pulled the Vixen video stills from her messenger bag and, squatting down a few feet away, held them out. “Look familiar? Nice tattoo. You get that in prison, or when you first joined the Brotherhood, Mr. Campbell?” 

“Where’d you get those, you little bitch?”

“That’s not really important, is it? Although, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll be happy to tell you, just as soon as you tell me who hired you and why you were trying to kill Keith Mars?”

“I told you, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes, you do, because these,” she jiggled the pictures, “were taken by a security camera outside of Pisano's on the night Mr. Mars was shot.” She waited for him to focus on the photo. “Recognize anything? Like the lovely tattoo? Does it, and the guy wearing it, look familiar? Because I’m pretty sure it’s you. I doubt there are many shooters in San Diego or Balboa County who're sporting an Aryan Brotherhood tat. Waddya think? Should I call the Sheriff and ask?” Veronica glowered fiercely at Campbell and, when he didn’t respond, continued, “You know, if I had your illustrious criminal record, I'd think twice about coming to the attention of local law enforcement, because they might lock you up just for being in town without a permission slip. I know I would.” Sitting cross-legged about five feet outside the range of his reach, Veronica shrugged and stared expressionlessly at him. 

Finally, after a two-minute standoff that felt like an hour, Campbell said, “So, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know who, exactly, paid you to shoot Keith Mars.” 

“What if I don't actually know who paid me - and I'm not sayin' I did it - but what if I did, but I'm not sure who hired me, because it was done on the phone, and the payoff was mailed.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Veronica said brightly. “Why don't you stop making excuses and tell me what you know, before I make that call.” She held up her cell and wiggled it invitingly. 

“Okay, okay. If I tell you, what's in it for me?”

“You know, that’s the second time today a guy's asked me that. Hmm. Wonder what that means.” She rolled her eyes restlessly. “Out with it, boy, my fingers are getting twitchy. I just know the cops would be interested in an Aryan Brotherhood member in their fair city. You’ve got thirty seconds to make up your mind; if you spill, I might just leave and forget I ever met you. If you don't, I'm going to make a call and leave you here for them to find. It's up to you.” Veronica held the phone between her fingers and stared at the buttons. Deliberately, slowly, she punched the nine. 

“Okay. Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Who. Who hired you?”

“I only got a name.”

“That's a good start. What is it?”

“All I know is Bristow.”

“Bristow? That's all?”

“Yeah. Bristow.”

“And how did you contact Bristow?”

“I had a number to call.”

“You still have it?”

“Yeah. I think so. Should be in outgoing calls on the cell.”

“Where is it?”

“What?”

“The number. On your cell phone? I don't have time for games, Campbell.” 

“Okay, okay. On the table, under the pretzels.” 

Veronica rose and hesitantly lifted the edge of the bag. Underneath was a small, disposable phone. She scrolled through until she found the outgoing call log. “Which one is it?”

“It’s the only one on there; it's not my phone, I only used it to call Bristow.”

Pulling her cell from the bag still hanging off her shoulder, Veronica transferred the number to her phone. She started to put his back on the tray table but thought better of it and slid it into her pocket. “That’s it? That's all you know? How'd you get paid?”

Forgetting he was chained to the étagère, Campbell tried to hold up both hands, but was rudely jerked back by the handcuffs. “P.O. box. The fee, or half of it, was mailed to me at a Neptune P.O. Box. We're still negotiating the other half, because I didn’t finish the job.” Veronica turned away so he couldn’t see her body start to shake, and her face blanche. Struggling to regain her self-control, she spun around furiously. 

“You stupid son of a bitch. You don't deserve to be alive, you know that, right?”

“Hey! We had a deal.”

“Yeah, well,” she whipped out her taser and, before he could react, buzzed him again. “You’re lucky I don't have a gun,” she muttered as she stepped over him and out the door. Spitefully, she left it open - it wasn’t a nice neighborhood, maybe someone would do her and the world a favor and mug him. She ran to her car, hopped in and immediately locked all the doors. Despite her agitated state, she knew she couldn’t sit there, in the hood at dusk, so she revved the engine and peeled out.

* * *

It was almost ten o'clock when Veronica pulled into a parking slot at Dog Beach. The lot was deserted. Still trembling, she shut off the LeBaron and sat for a moment, staring at, but not really seeing, the crashing waves and the glittering foam floating onto the sand. She thought about calling Wallace to tell him what she'd learned, but he would no doubt be angry and bitch her out for being stupid enough to go after a hit man without backup. And he'd probably tell her father, too. Of course she couldn’t tell Keith; he'd ground her for life, and then he'd look into transferring her to a Catholic college in Minnesota. Mac was at a two-day geekware seminar and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. She had to talk to someone, though.

* * *

“This is Logan with today's inspirational message: Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way, in cheerful godliness. William Wordsworth. I'm traveling, leave a message.” 

“Logan? It's me, Veronica. I . . . I need to talk to you. Call me when you get this.”

* * *

She sat alone, absently digging her fingers in the sand, grasping a handful and letting it seep out her fist. The moon shown hollowly on the quieting water. A curious gull strutted past, cocking its head to study the odd creature invading its territory. Startled by her buzzing phone, she fumbled in her jacket before answering. “Logan?”

“Veronica. You rang - twice in one day. Is it freezing yet?”

“Where are you? I drove by, but your car was gone.”

“Napa. Dick mother's been bugging him to come up for a visit. I had nothing to do, so I tagged along. We’ll be in San Fran for a few days. Why? Where are you? Wait! I know, you're sitting on the beach, thinking about . . . whatever stupid case you're working on. You're wasting perfectly good moonlight, Veronica. Is everything okay?”

“N…no, I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. How'd you know I'm on the beach? Never mind. It's nothing.”

“Why'd you call, then, Veronica? Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“I'm fine, Logan,” she sighed. “It's nothing, really. I got some strange information today, and I wanted to talk to you about it, but it's not important. It can wait.”

“Veronica. If something's wrong, you can tell me. I won’t be mad. I can drop Dick off and be back by morning.”

“No, Logan, it's not that important. I . . . I just wanted to talk to you.”

“So talk.”

“No. Look, I'm sorry I bothered you. I didn’t realize you and Dick were on the road. I’ll see you when you get back, okay? Goodnight, Logan,” she said softly, ending the call before he could press her further. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and, ignoring his attempt to call back, got up and began the trek to her car. She knew if she'd told Logan what she'd just done, he would: a) move heaven and earth to get home; and, b) be so angry he might never trust her again. Plus, it would validate all of Logan's outraged accusations about her alleged tendency to leap before she looked and to put her business ahead of him.

* * *

Veronica gaped at Loretta Cancun, decked out in body hugging spandex, stiletto over-the-knee boots and a magenta wig. She glanced askance at Cliff. “That's not quite what I meant.”

Cliff looked pained. “We needed bait, and Loretta fit into the costume.” He ignored Veronica's muttered “barely” and continued. “If you can do better, please do.” He crossed his arms. 

Veronica gave a martyred sigh. Her mind was still processing her conversation with Campbell, and a comic book convention was the last place she wanted to be, but she had promised, so she tried to make the best of it. Marshalling her thoughts, she pushed at the librarian glasses that constituted her disguise, shoving them farther up the bridge of her nose. “Nope, she's perfect!” she said, trying to fake sincerity and failing miserably. Ms. Cancun rolled her eyes so hard Veronica was sure Loretta could see through to the back of her own head. Of course, if Loretta really could see behind herself, she would see the phalanx of adolescent boys gawking at the spandex body suit that seemed to be several sizes too small and stretched to the breaking point. 

Veronica turned to see Cliff doing some gawking of his own, as a woman walked by with a gravity defying top made of torn strips of leather; it was paired with a skirt that, if she were feeling generous, she would have described as a mini. Before Cliff could follow the girl, she grabbed him by the arm and snapped her fingers in his face. “Focus. Think about Brian's mother.”

Cliff watched wistfully as the rear sashayed away from him and into the waiting arms of a 6"4' leather clad warrior who was waiting at the end of the hall. “Ah, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

Veronica gave him a look over the top of her glasses. “And I was so seeing children and a picket fence for you two.” Having gotten his attention, she continued, “You two know the plan right?”

“Right,” Cliff said straightening his tie. “Loretta will let the boy chat her up. She’ll ask him why he's here. It shouldn’t be difficult to get the story out of him, seeing as she's dressed like the main character of his comic. She’ll tell him about a new publisher who's looking for artists, and bring him to the table Logan arranged for us. When he shows me the pages, I’ll palm one off to you. You’ll copy it and make sure the Easter eggs are there. Once we have proof, I can give him back the pages, and if he gets a contract, we'll be able to challenge it.”

Loretta looked at the yearbook photo of Rod. “How do we know the kid will talk to me?”

Cliff looked her up and down and, cupping her elbow, moved her toward the throngs of people headed into the main exhibit hall. “I have every confidence in your charms, Loretta.”

She gave him a hard look. “Just remember the twenty percent discount on my next bill.”

He smiled charmingly. “Don't worry my dear, I won't forget this.” He looked at her figure as she preceded him inside. “Ever.” It was Veronica's turn to roll her eyes as they took off.

* * *

A few hours later, as what seemed like the millionth scantily clad female walked by, Veronica had become heartily sick of the case. Watching Cliff’s evident appreciation of the feminine form had begun to pall, and Veronica could not get Campbell's comments out of her mind. As the fourth Xena walked by, Veronica heard Cliff say, “Make a note, V. In the future, I might need to make attending Nerd Fest a regular event.” Only the sight of Loretta leading a sweating Rod to their table prevented Veronica's tart retort. 

Veronica lurked behind the blue curtain separating their table from the others. She soon figured out why Rod was sweating so profusely. Every time Loretta looked at him, or touched him, he started stuttering and blushing so wildly Veronica was worried he was going to have a panic attack. However, in his extremely distracted state, he barely noticed Cliff taking his portfolio to the back 'to get more light' and slip a page to Veronica. 

As she cut through the back alley of the convention center, Veronica silently thanked Logan for the accommodations he'd been able to arrange for her. Playing on the sympathies one of the staffers had for his 'plight', and on her assistant's fondly remembered tryst with Aaron, he and Sabina had gotten Veronica access to not only the employees-only section of the center, but also the copier in the front office. As she returned to the table and slid the drawing to Cliff, she turned to see Brian anxiously waiting.

“Is that it?” He craned to see the paper in her hand. She pulled him into the hallway, nervously looking around to see if Rod had heard Brian. Rod seemed to be still engrossed by Loretta's charms and Cliff's bullshit, so she breathed a sigh of relief and showed the younger boy the copy. He looked at it intently for a moment, an indefinable look on his face.

“What?” she asked, concerned. “Is the proof not there?” She looked over the paper, searching for the heart with his phone number that was supposed to be doodled in one of the corners. A second later, after finding it, she realized he still hadn’t spoken. “Brian, are you okay?” He shook his head, sinking to the ground at her feet, the page still clutched in his hand. “Brian?” Her voice rose an octave, and, through the gap in the curtain, she could see Cliff shoot her a worried look. 

“He made it better,” Brian mumbled, looking at the paper. Almost reverently, he ran his finger over one section. “Here,” he pointed Sin's cape. “Look, how he shaded the color to make it look like it's flapping. I, well, it didn’t look like that when I drew it.”

Veronica slid down next to Brian. She looked over the paper, her eyes lingering on the heroine, obviously patterned on her friend Mac. She silently chortled at the thought of Mac seeing a double D version of herself fighting crime in stilettos, and made a mental note to keep this page for the torture value it represented. “Maybe you should talk to Rod about collaborating. If he made the book better, you guys should work together instead of fighting.”

Stung, he looked at her. “But he stole the pages from me.” 

“Yes, he did. But he might have had a reason. You guys should talk, and if you can't resolve things, we still have the proof.”

Brian thought about it for a moment, and nodded slowly. As he started to walk through the curtain, she pulled the page from his loose grasp, chuckling evilly. “I’ll hold onto this. Just in case.” Veronica watched him approach his former friend. 

As they talked intently, she rejoined Cliff in time to hear Loretta say, “I think I should get a twenty-five percent discount, that boy almost fainted when I went up to him. I deserve hazard pay!” Cliff was negotiating with Loretta when the two boys returned. 

As Rod renewed his I'm-close-to-Loretta blushing and stammering routine, Brian smiled at Veronica and Cliff and gestured to the pages. “Rod was hurt because I didn’t appreciate what he could do for my work, so he took the pages and finished them to show me how great they could be.” He opened the portfolio Rod had just shown him and pointed to the title page. It listed Brian Wixom as the Artist and Rod McClure as the Inker. “He was going to sell it as our work and use it to convince me to do another book.” Rod nodded, his eyes still on Loretta. “We're going to the Marvel reps together to see if they like the book.”

Brian held his hand out to Cliff. “Thank you so much, Mr. McCormack, for helping me.”

“Not at all,” Cliff smoothly replied. “Just don't forget to mention it to your mother.” Brian nodded as Veronica grinned mischievously. The boys walked off, talking animatedly, their past animosity apparently forgotten. Cliff looked after them. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Louis.”

Loretta, hand on her hip, stared pointedly at him. “Let's go. You promised me a steak dinner.”

He looked longingly at the sign on the wall. “But the masquerade starts soon. Can't we stay for that?” Ignoring her antagonized look, he continued. “I think you could win for best super hero, you certainly have the outfit for it.”

“Everyone seems to think so,” she noted, looking down. “Lots of people wanted to take my picture. I guess I don't mind if we stay for a while. There's a cash prize, right?”

“Excellent.” He turned and noticed Veronica's pensive face. “Veronica, is something bothering you?”

She was tempted to ask what he knew about her father's past, but dismissed the idea as soon as she considered it. Cliff was her friend too, but he would never betray her father's confidence. Besides, she suddenly realized, the person she really wanted to talk to was Logan. She summoned a smile and waved him away. “Nope, just happy those crazy kids were able to work it out.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder briefly as he passed by. “Thanks, Kiddo. And now, there's a costume category, best use of spandex, that's calling my name. Catch you later.” She smiled as he and Loretta followed the sign's directions, shook her head, and placed the artwork in her bag. As she walked to her car, she pulled out her phone and dialed Logan's number.

* * *

“This is Logan with today's inspiration message: The pleasure of leaving home, care-free, with no concern but to enjoy, has also as a pendant the pleasure of coming back to the old hearthstone, the home to which, however traveled, the heart still fondly turns, ignoring the burden of its anxieties and cares. Herman Melville. Leave a message.” 

“Logan, it's Veronica. I need to talk to you. Please call me when you get this.”

* * *

She waited for a few minutes, but when Logan didn’t immediately return her call, she headed for the freeway. The pieces didn’t quite fit; there had to be something Campbell hadn’t told her. How did he get the cell phone? What information had he been given about Keith, and how did he get it? Most importantly - why had Keith Mars been targeted? Last night, she'd been so focused on finding out who wanted Keith dead that she forgot to find out why, if Campbell even knew. 

Dreading another trip to skankville, Veronica rehearsed her demands as she sped south. Thankfully, it was only four and would stay light for several more hours. When she arrived in front of the ramshackle residence, she could see the door was still slightly ajar. In fact, it looked almost the same as when she'd left the night before. Was it possible he was still chained to the étagère? Not that he knew his entertainment center could be referred to as an étagère. 

Once again, she locked the LeBaron and slipped across the street. This time, she didn’t try to hide her taser. It seemed prudent to carry it open. Just in case. Toes outside the doorjamb, she leaned in and peeked. Campbell was sitting in almost exactly the same spot he'd been in before. 

“Hey, Campbell,” she hissed. “You awake?”

He didn’t move, didn’t stir. “Scumbag! Wake up, you jerk.”

And still, he didn’t move a muscle. Veronica tiptoed into the entryway and nudged Campbell with her foot. His body felt stiff and unyielding. She bent down to peer into his eyes, and nearly gagged. A bullet hole pierced the space between his eyes, a small trickle of blood crusted underneath. Her head swam and she staggered backward, trying not to hurl. She backed toward the door, struggling to remember whether she'd wiped the cuffs after she hooked him up last night. It really didn’t matter, because she didn’t dare disturb the crime scene. She had to get out, and pray her car hadn’t been noticed by any of the denizens of the neighborhood. 

Hands shaking all the way, Veronica drove to the nearest gas station. She ripped her phone from her bag with unstable fingers, and stopped. What should I do? Who can I call? Dad will have a fit. Logan's in San Francisco. The police will probably want to detain me. Unable to compose a coherent thought, she simply sat in her LeBaron, racking her brain. For once in her life, Veronica Mars did not know what to do.


	14. Cho-sen Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica struggles to cope with the disturbing outcome of her trip to San Diego by stopping for a pie at Cho's, but not all is well at the home of the Peking Duck Pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by disdainfullady.  
> Her notes: _Special thanks to rindee and kantayra for their beta work._

Logan’s hand was warm in the small of her back as he guided her towards the doors of the restaurant. “Here we are.”

“Here indeed,” she replied. She glanced across the street at the full parking lot in front of Vixen and then back to the striped awning. “Are you sure you want to eat at Pisano’s tonight?”

“I made a reservation, but . . .”

She shrugged. “No, this is fine.”

The hostess led them to a circular booth and handed them menus before disappearing.

“You were right, this is really nice, Logan,” Veronica glanced around the restaurant buzzing quietly with conversation before settling back on his face. “I’m so glad you came back early.”

“You know what they say,” he shrugged.

She toyed with the stem of her glass. “No, what do ‘they’ say?”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I missed you, Veronica,” Logan replied, sliding closer to her in the circular booth and taking her hand. “I was being an ass, trying to push you, expecting you to only pay attention to me.”

“No, Logan, you were right.” She stopped, staring at their joined hands on the white tablecloth. “I . . . I have shut you out sometimes. I know I have. People that I . . . really care about . . .” She took a deep breath and met his eyes, trying to be honest with him, “Relationships don’t really seem to work out so well for me, Logan, not serious ones, and you’re . . .”

“I’m what, Veronica?” he asked, sliding still closer so that their faces were only inches apart.

“You’re someone I could be serious about.” She let out a shaky sigh. “Or that maybe I’m already am. And that’s scary.”

Logan didn’t smile, truly smile, very often. But when he did, it was like the whole room lit up. And it was brighter than sunshine now, she realized as he stopped her from saying anything further with a kiss, his fingers tangled in her hair as their lips met. And he still didn’t stop smiling. She pushed down the giggle welling up inside and kissed him back, forgetting for a moment they were in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

At least until she heard a muffled harrumph beside the table. 

“I take it you two crazy kids worked things out, then?” Keith asked, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

She pulled back from Logan reluctantly, keeping their fingers intertwined. “You going to get the shotgun now, Pa? Make him make an honest woman out of me?”

He slid into the booth beside her. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart. But I do think I’ll have the manicotti.”

Logan slid back, pulling her towards the middle of the booth so she was situated between her father and him as he sheepishly explained. “I, uh, asked your dad to meet us here. I thought it would be nice to have dinner together.” 

She smirked. This was too good to be true. “What are they putting in that water up in San Fran these days?” She glanced around, “Seriously, where’s the real Logan Echolls?”

“Very funny, _honeybunch_ ,” Logan replied, handing her a menu. “Now order, tonight’s my treat.”

Keith glanced up from his own menu perusal. “Veronica, remind me that you and I need to talk at the office tomorrow. There are some things I uncovered in Fresno that I need to follow up on, and I want you to help me.” 

Veronica sat her menu down and turned to face her dad. “Seriously? You want me to help? Have you been drinking what Logan has?”

Keith laughed. “I don’t think so. I just thought about what you said the night of Kendall’s party. Having secrets from one another isn’t good for us, Veronica.” He pointed a finger at her and added sternly, “You have to promise to be careful, and not do anything to put yourself in danger, though. No running off on your own.”

“Oh, Dad, I won’t. Cross my heart. And thank you so much, I-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but would you like to order now?” 

Veronica glanced in annoyance at the waitress, a very young Hispanic girl who stood at the edge of the booth poised to take their order. Were waitresses in Neptune that hard to find? She was practically a baby. 

Veronica tried to keep her tone polite as she replied. “Could you give us just a minute, please? We’re not quite ready.”

“Certainly. My name is Rosa, and I’ll be your server this evening. I can’t wait much longer though. I’m almost out of time.” 

She turned and walked away as Veronica jerked her head back up from the menu. What did she just say? She was almost out of time? What did that mean?

“Would you like a refill?” Veronica turned from her contemplation of the waitress walking away to the arm holding a pitcher to Logan’s water glass. Except Logan wasn’t beside her in the booth anymore. She hadn’t heard him leave. Where had he gone?

“What about you, ma’am?”

An arm with an intricate Celtic tattoo revealed by the server’s rolled-up sleeve stretched across the table in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked slowly up into the face of Tommy Campbell and the barrel of his gun.

“Have to finish what I started,” he grinned, as he aimed the gun at the center of her father’s forehead and pulled the trigger.  


* * *

“Dad! Nooooo!” Veronica screamed, as she jerked awake, drenched in sweat. She tried to catch her breath as she glanced at her alarm clock. Almost 11:00am. She grabbed for her cell phone and punched the number for the office.

“Mars Investigations.”

“Dad? Is that you? Are you all right?” Veronica asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“I’m fine, sweetheart, are you feeling better? I turned off your alarm this morning before I left, I thought a few extra hours would do you good since you weren’t feeling well last night.”

“Last night, right – yeah, I was worried the cold I had was coming back, but I think the extra sleep helped. I’ll be in as soon as I get a shower. I’ll even pick up some lunch.”  


Veronica fiddled with the comforter as the previous evening began flooding back.

“You can take the rest of the day off if you aren’t feeling well, honey. Just call and let me know. I’ve got to go, Cliff just walked in,” Keith replied.

“Bye, Daddy.” Veronica responded softly as she ended the call and dropped the phone onto the bed. Backup padded into the room and let out a soft sigh as he curled beside the bed. Veronica settled herself back into the comforter and reached down to pet the soft fur behind his ears. 

“How you doing, boy? You think I did the right thing?” she asked. A quiet snuffle was the only response, as she went over the events of the previous night in her mind. 

She’d started to just drive away from Campbell’s house, leave, forget about it, and then reality hit. If she hadn’t wiped those cuffs, and her prints turned up, it was bye-bye Hearst, hello Valley State Penitentiary. She’d doubled back instead, parking a few blocks away. A quick cut across a few backyards and she’d slipped into the house one last time, carefully wiping the cuffs as thoroughly as she could without disturbing the body.

She’d fought her gag reflex at Campbell’s limp corpse with the grotesque hole centered in the forehead, working quickly and trying to touch nothing. She’d kept her hand wrapped before, she hadn’t touched anything except the door to the fridge, the bottle opener, and . . . the bag of pretzels she’d moved to get the phone. 

She’d grabbed that up and surveyed the scene, satisfied she’d removed the most obvious traces. If she was lucky, the police would run his record, assume it was a gang killing or drug deal gone bad, and it would get shoved to the side without much investigation. 

She’d backtracked to her car through the darkened backyards and drove several more blocks before finding a decrepit gas station with a still functioning pay phone and no apparent security cameras. After a hasty anonymous call to the police, claiming to be a neighbor who’d heard noises coming from Campbell’s house, she’d hit the interstate for Neptune. 

By the time she’d gotten home, it had been late, but her father had been waiting on the couch. She’d made some excuses about getting stuck at the convention and not feeling well. Her pale face and clammy skin had sold the story and her dad had bundled her off to bed. 

Veronica rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t sorry Campbell was dead. But his murder was no random killing. Which she didn’t need Freud and her dreams to tell her meant that somewhere out there, some else might be planning to finish the job he’d botched. She just wished she knew how to find them. 

As for the rest of the dream . . . sometimes a cigar was just a cigar. Hello, wish fulfillment. Like Logan was ever going to admit he’d been an ass or her dad open up his files and tell her what was really going on. Only in her nightmares. 

Backup let out another soft sigh as she rolled over and gave him another pat. She should go hit the shower, get ready. Which she would totally do in five more minutes.

Something was beeping somewhere.

She rolled over to gaze blearily at her alarm clock, only to find the angry red numerals proclaiming a time that meant not only had she told her dad she’d be at the office a good three hours ago, but also that lunch time had come and gone without so much as a ‘sorry to have missed you’. Which would possibly explain why her stomach was currently trying to gnaw on her internal organs.

_That’s good, Veronica. Let’s focus on your caloric deficiency. And try not to think about the dead guy haunting you.”_

Maneuvering herself out of the strangling cocoon that was her blankets, she tried to remember if there was anything approaching edible in the house. And by edible she meant requiring no greater energy to prepare than pressing a couple buttons on the microwave. Somehow she doubted it.

Her phone continued to buzz resentfully, the way it always did when she had dared to miss a call, and she groaned before shoving the thing into her bag unlooked at. The last thing she needed was the added guilt trip of listening as her dad’s calls went from teasing to annoyed to anxious. 

“See, this is why we don’t turn off my alarm clock.”

Ten minutes later, after a record breaking shower and nonexistent primp session, she was out the door, having made an executive decision to fully embrace her tardiness and grab a pizza before showing up at the office.

After all, what better way to apologize for oversleeping after a night of nightmares about a case one isn’t actually supposed to be handling than a deliciously fattening offering of cheese on bread?

Pulling into the parking lot at Cho’s Pizza – and marveling at the cosmic chance that actually allowed her to _get_ said parking spot – she went through her Cho’s ritual, a procedure that involved her promising herself that this time she would actually try the Peking duck pizza and then somehow discovering ingenious reasons why such a bold stroke was better left for another time. She’d done it often enough that she couldn’t even pretend she wasn’t lying to herself anymore.

Of course, this time, her reasoning was entirely sound, as dad always declared blandly that had God intended duck and pizza to coexist, then duck would taste a lot more like pepperoni.

Heaving herself out of the LeBaron, she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed inside.

For a moment, she stood blinking in the relative darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. When they did, she realized it wasn’t just luck that had secured her parking place. Cho’s was empty. The only person in sight was a clearly bored young man pretending to clean the already spotless tables while dancing around with his iPod.

That in and of itself was weird. Cho’s was usually crazy on weekend afternoons. Veronica shrugged. It was probably bad for them, but the thought of a short wait wasn’t exactly unappealing.

As she made her way to the front, the sounds of raised voices filtered from the back room, and she frowned. Before she could make up her mind to skirt around the counter though, she found herself facing a perky brunette, who looked annoyingly perfect despite her Cho’s uniform. Veronica looked down at her own somewhat grungy jeans and ‘I Heart Pitbulls’ t-shirt, and blanched.

“Can I help you?” the girl – Kathy - asked, her shiny hair swinging around her face in what was probably a total health code violation. 

Veronica shook her head, brushing off the rather enjoyable images of Kathy being tied down and forced into a hairnet. “Er, yeah, a large pepperoni and mushroom, extra cheese. To go, please.”

“No, problem,” Kathy trilled as she expertly maneuvered herself around the tiny space. “That’ll be twelve ninety-five, and it’ll be out in a jiff.”

“Super,” Veronica managed, as she dug in her bag for her wallet.

“So how are we doing?”

_Oooh goody. Now we’re chatting._

“Well, _we_ can’t really complain.” 

_Unless we were being honest, of course. But really, who would ever do that?_

“Rough day, huh?” Kathy nodded sympathetically at Veronica’s pony-tailed, makeup-free visage and Veronica gritted her teeth. She knew she probably looked like forty miles of rough road right now. That didn’t mean she needed any model look-alikes to comment on the fact.

“I’m sorry, I’m being annoying, aren’t I?” the girl continued, smiling deprecatingly. “It’s just that you’re the first customer we’ve had in over an hour, and I’m desperate for some sort of stimulus.”

Veronica considered and rejected a number of responses, including ‘I’ve got a tazer in my bag. How’s that for stimulus for you?’ before settling on an insincere, “Oh, that’s okay.”

Despite the mildness of her reply, the girl apparently felt rebuffed, as she fell silent, dropping her gaze to the countertop.

Veronica sighed and wondered how much longer she’d have to wait. Her phone chirped again, and she winced. She could either keep talking to the Barbie doll or explain her lateness to her dad. Sort of a Scylla and Charybdis kind of decision, really.

She dug out her phone and pulled up the incoming calls list. The phone numbers stood out in sharp relief. Wallace had called twice and Mac once. Her father hadn’t bothered. Suddenly, conversation with a random stranger didn’t seem like such a bad thing after all.

The sounds of the argument filtered forward again, and she couldn’t help asking what was going on.

Kathy frowned minutely. “It’s pretty bad. Mr. Cho’s having to fire this guy for stealing. Like we haven’t had enough trouble lately.”

A simple interrogative was enough to keep the girl talking.

“You know about that new place, _Johnny’s_ about a block down Maple?”

Actually, she didn’t, but that hardly mattered.

Kathy’s gaze grew thoughtful as she began fidgeting nervously with the rather spectacular ring on her right hand. Which, come to think of it, was probably another health code violation.

“Ever since they opened, things have been dead around here. Two of Mr. Cho’s long-term cooks bailed, and honestly, unless things pick up soon, we’re probably going to lose more people. And now this guy’s stealing.”

“But you’re sticking it out?”

“Well,” the girl murmured, as she continued to absently twirl the ring on her finger. “I need the job. I haven’t been in Neptune that long, and it’s this or Woody’s Burgers. Think we’re dead; you haven’t been in one of them recently.”

“So why’d you move here?” 

“Oh, I just followed my man,” she grinned.

“That’s… enlightened of you.” Veronica said disbelievingly, not bothering to attempt to hide her disdain.

The other girl shrugged. “I know, I know, it’s hokey, but what can I say? Love is love.”

“I think I’ve heard of that.”

“So what about you? No guy?”

Just a guy she held at a distance until he decided to remove himself from the situation entirely. Veronica sighed. This right here was just why she really shouldn’t talk to people. Ever.

To Kathy she said, “Yeah, this town? Not really good for relationships. Heartbreak, yes. Relationships? Not so much.”

“It doesn’t seem so bad,” Kathy offered.

“Well, you’re new.”

“Large pepperoni and mushroom, extra cheese?” Mr. Cho appeared from the back, his face a peculiar mixture of anger, disappointment, and fake cheer, the latter of which was probably for Veronica’s benefit, while the former presumably had something to do with the store thief.

Gratefully disengaging from a conversation that was quickly veering into slumber party territory, Veronica went to claim her pizza, asking after Hamilton as she did so.

Mr. Cho didn’t exactly warm, but there was perhaps a minimal thawing, and he responded with a somewhat overwhelming flurry of information, the gist of which seemed to be that Hamilton was doing very well indeed.

_So first I have to listen to someone else’s romantic bliss, and now outpourings of paternal pride and affection? It’s so nice when the universe opts for individualized persecution._

A moment later, after having agreed five times that it was never too early to start looking for internships, she was making her way out the door. The day hadn’t started that auspiciously to begin with, but at this point she was considering just taking her pizza home and falling back into her PJs. Another door slammed to her right, and Veronica looked up to find herself face to face with Corny.

“Veronica, man I was just thinking about you.” 

Corny looked more upset than she’d ever seen him, which, granted, wasn’t really saying much, and she decided to proceed with caution.

“That’s… nice.”

“You’ve got to help me.”

“Yeah. You’d think I’d get tired of hearing that, but nope. Still satisfying. What’s up?”

“I’ve just been fired.”

* * *

“You didn’t get peppers?” Corny asked.

“You know, I believe your response is supposed to be a thank you – seeing as this is actually my pizza.”

“I always get extra peppers. The rush from the pain? It’s totally sweet.”

When she got to the office her dad wasn’t even there. Just a minimalist note saying he’d be back later and not to get into trouble. She’d swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to offer his share of the pizza to Corny, who was taking his wrongful accusation and loss of employment remarkably well, considering.

She settled back behind the desk, looking as official as the pizza in her hand would let her.

“So why don’t we run through this again. Mr. Cho accused you of being, on er . . . recreational pharmaceuticals at work . . . which was true, on occasion. But he also suggested you’d been stealing from the register to finance said habit? Did he have any proof?”

“He said someone came forward. Saw me taking stuff. So bogus.”

Veronica frowned. It wasn’t a guarantee, but the odds were that whoever had reported Corny was the actual thief. “Did he happen to say who?” 

Corny shrugged and reached for his fourth piece. “He wouldn’t say, but it’s gotta be Jeremy. He’s had it in for me for forever.”

“Jeremy… iPod guy from earlier? Was he working today?”

“Yeah, he got that thing like a week ago. Won’t shut up about it. Did I mention the guy sucks?”

“He just got a new iPod?”

“Yeah. Mr. Cho had to yell at him for watching movies when he was supposed to be on counter.”

_The new video iPods run from three hundred to four hundred dollars. Kind of an extravagant purchase for a delivery boy._

Veronica nodded. “Okay. I’ll look into it and let you know.”

“Thanks Veronica, I owe you one.”

Corny stood and headed out, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

“Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“You gonna finish that last piece?”

* * *

Veronica glanced again at the clock on the desk. Thirty five minutes since she’d ordered her pizza, requesting Jeremy deliver it. Cho’s guarantee was thirty minutes.

Not that she was particularly hungry for pizza again, but a promise was a promise. Her pizza was supposed to be here by now. She threw her pencil across the room.

“Is this a bad time?”

Tallulah Godfrey stood in the doorway, glancing amusedly from the pencil to Veronica’s chagrined expression.

“No, not at all. Sorry about the – um, how can I help you?”

“I was actually hoping to talk to your father. I’m still worried about Colleen. I’m not going to be in town much longer and I just needed to be sure – is he in?”

“Actually, he’s stepped out for a while. I can let him know you dropped by.”

“I can wait. Like I said, I’m leaving in a couple of days, and I probably won’t be able to come back in for a while, and Colleen’s been a bit unpredictable lately. The things a woman will do for her man. Should I wait in here?” she asked, gesturing towards Keith’s open office door.

“Well –”

“Pepperoni and mushroom with extra cheese?”

“That’s me.” She turned back to Tallulah. “Um, sure. Go ahead and wait in there.”

“That’ll be twelve ninety-five.”

“I thought if it wasn’t there in half an hour it was free, with a ritual flogging of the delivery boy thrown in. Maybe I should call back and check.”

The boy blanched and she rolled her eyes. Some targets were really too easy.

“Look, you can’t – I wasn’t that late, some of my other deliveries ran over,” he stammered.

Veronica sighed as she observed his anxious expression. This wasn’t quite the devious master criminal she’d been expecting.

“If Cho knew I was late he’d fire me. I can’t – please.”

“Why would he fire you if your other deliveries ran late?”

“They weren’t exactly . . . never mind. You’re right, the pizza’s free, just don’t report me.”

Veronica’s eyes narrowed as she advanced on Jeremy. “I think I’m going to hold off deciding what I’ll do until you tell me about those other deliveries. Trust me, I’m scarier than Mr. Cho.”

The boy – who hadn’t exactly been a mystic-tan junkie to begin with – paled still further. Veronica had to resist the urge to hold a piece of paper up against his skin.

“Look. You can’t … you can’t tell anyone about this. It’d be my job. Plus my mom would kill me.”

“Well, that officially has my attention.”

“My …”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I caught that, but it sounded like you said you want me to call your mom and tell her what you’re up to?”

“My little brother’s supposed to be on Ritalin,” he blurted.

“Supposed to be? What do you mean supposed - you’re _selling_ your little brother’s medicine?”

“He wasn’t taking it anyway. He was throwing it down the sink. I saw him do it. I figured this way; I’d make some extra cash.”

Veronica blinked in disgust. “Gotta bless that capitalistic spirit.” He grinned and she shook her head. “You’re officially despicable. Congratulations.” She paused. “So I’m guessing that’s where you got the cash for that fancy new iPod.”

“Better than that. Check this out.” He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a ring box, revealing a modest but attractive diamond ring. “I’m going to give it to my girlfriend tomorrow.”

Veronica smiled faintly. “That’s … romantic, really. Hang on,” she muttered as a thought occurred to her, “your girlfriend.”

“Um. Yeah? You aren’t going to report me, are you? Or tell my mom?”

“I’ll tell you what, you find out one thing for me and we’ll call it even.”

* * *

“My sweet boy, you know we’ll be leaving for Paris at the end of the week. Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but Steven and I do have obligations. Just a reminder.” Betina stood in the doorway, attired in designer evening wear and some every expensive looking diamonds.

“I know, Ma, you mentioned it a couple of times now.” Dick gave a nod in her direction as he worked the controller furiously.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then? We’re flying to Tahoe for the night for an event.” Betina informed him.

“Sure thing, Ma,” Dick responded.

“Have a good evening, Mrs. Vinderkemp,” Logan called as he entered through the doorway connecting his room to Dick’s.

“Betina, Logan dear, you know you’re supposed to call me Betina. And you have a good evening as well,” she added, before heading down the hallway.

“How freaky is it that you were screwing a chick with your mom’s name?” Logan asked as he sat down beside Dick. “You ever call her mommy while you were doing her?”

“Dude, I never thought of that. Kinky.” Dick grinned. “I like to stay generic though, you know? Ohhh, baby, yeah baby, yeah,” he illustrated with a hip thrust. “That way you don’t slip up, call them Suzie when they’re Sharon or whatever. Chicks can get really pissed about that.”

“Who’d have guessed?” Logan responded dryly. 

“That Bettina chick’s hot in a white trash kind of way. And nasty, that girl’ll do-”

“Dick, man, she’s dead,” Logan interrupted. 

Dick stared straight ahead at the screen. “Yeah. I know. It’s just easier to not think about it that way. Like they’re not dead, they’re just on a trip or something.”

Logan watched his friend for a minute before responding softly, “Yeah, it is.” He grabbed up a controller. “I heard your mom. So I guess that’s her not so subtle way of telling us to hit the road. And we just got here.”

“Nah, we don’t have to leave yet. ‘Sides, I’m tired of hearing Kendall whine all the time. Let’s stay a few more days. Unless you got something you got to get back to - like a certain lady friend you want to be having some hot make-up sex with.” Dick ran his hands up his chest and began to moan, “Oh, Logan, take me, you hot stud, take me.” 

Logan punched his arm, “Dude. Enough with the Veronica talk, okay? And stop picturing her naked.”

Dick threw up his hands in defense as Logan covertly glanced at his phone and the missed calls from Veronica. She probably just wanted him to help her with another one of her cases. And what was the point of getting out of town if he was going to be hanging on her every call, panting after her like some pathetic little lap-dog? He shrugged. “I’m free. Nothing better to do. Let’s stay. See what this city has to offer.”

“Lone wolves, man, we are lone wolves,” Dick responded. “And we’re gonna hunt the town tonight.”

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Cho bristled as Corny walked in behind Veronica. “I told you never to come in here again.”

Corny hesitated, looking back and forth from Mr. Cho to Veronica.

“I asked him to come with me,” Veronica said. “Mr. Cho, Corny wasn’t stealing from you.”

“I have a witness. I’m sorry, but he can’t be here.”

“Mr. Cho, your witness is the thief.”

A disbelieving squawk from behind the counter let her know the whole gang was there.

“That’s right. Kathy’s your crook. Suggesting your best employees try for jobs elsewhere. Trying to get those too loyal to leave fired. She’s been working against you this whole time.”

“I don’t know what kind of scheme you’ve got going here,” Kathy interrupted furiously, “but –”

“Maybe not, but I know the scheme you’re running. I know you’re engaged to Johnny Bianchi. Owner of _Johnny’s Pizza_?”

The girl looked shocked. “How did you – you know nothing.” She was trying to look blasé, but Veronica was watching her hands. As before, she started fiddling with the ring on her right hand. Veronica smiled. She already had enough proof, but every little bit helped.

“That’s your tell, you know.” Veronica inclined her head towards the girl’s hands. “Your ring. Your engagement ring. You played with it when you brought him up the first time.”

Kathy glowered and dropped her hands. “That doesn’t mean anything. So I play with my rings – you don’t have any proof –”

“Actually, I think this photo of the two of you together counts as pretty sound proof. Cute picture. The engagement announcement wasn’t exactly hard to find once I had your last name. Frankly, I’m thinking Mr. Cho should press charges against the both of you.”

“He can’t. Johnny doesn’t know anything. He wasn’t –” Kathy’s face fell as she took in the disgust and anger on the faces around her. “I just wanted him to do well, that’s all. I thought if the new place was successful right away, then we could get married sooner. I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. I just…”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “The things we’ll do for love.”

* * *

“Hey Backup, boy, did you miss me?” Veronica greeted the happily drooling dog that came bounding towards her as she opened the door. “You want to go for a walk? See if I can clear my head and ditch the pizza flab?” 

She grabbed Backup’s leash and groaned as her stomach rumbled. “I never thought I’d say this, but if I never see another slice of pizza I think I’ll be perfectly content. Too much of a good thing, my friend, too much of a good thing.”

She grabbed her cell phone and scrolled through to check for messages as they headed out the door. Mac wanted a call back, Wallace had sent her a text to check her email, Dad was doing a stakeout at the Camelot. Nothing from Logan. 

She followed Backup as he trotted enthusiastically along the boardwalk. What did she expect, really? Nightmare last night or no, Logan wasn’t going to swoop back into town and forgive all. Not his style – the boy knew how to hold a grudge, that was for sure. 

No, he was probably off whooping it up with Dick. Whatever. It was just a dream. Full of crazy talk. Like her telling Logan she was serious about him.

Yep. Crazy. 

Just like that other crazy part where her dad wanted to tell her about what he’d found in Fresno. She gnawed at her thumbnail as she contemplated that. Her dad needed her help, whether he wanted it or not. She wasn’t going to lose him.

She pulled her phone back out and dialed his cell.

“Hello, Veronica, are you home?” Keith answered.

She switched the phone to her other ear as she reined in her pit bull and turned back towards the apartment. “Just out walking Backup, Dad. I’m headed home, and I think I’m going to make an early night of it. I’m still a little tired.”

“That sounds good, sweetheart. You need for me to pick you up some soup, or some medicine?” Keith asked.

She listened closely and made out the sound of traffic in the background. He must be at the Camelot. “No, I think an early night will do it. You going to be out long?”

Keith sighed. “Hopefully not. Mr. Jenkins doesn’t look like he’d have much stamina, so should be an in and out, couple of hours tops.”

“Oh, Tallulah stopped by the office. She’s still worried about her friend. She waited for a while, but had some dinner thing. She’s probably going to come back tomorrow.”

“Thanks, hon. You get some rest now.”

“I’ll leave the light on for you. Night, Dad.” She ended the call as they arrived back at the apartment door and hastily unlocked it. “Sorry, Backup, I’ve got to run. Be back soon.”

She headed to her car and turned towards the office to look through her dad’s files.

* * *

“Dude, this place rocks! Bartender, another for my friend here.” Dick swayed as he gripped the edge of the bar and giggled a little. “I think I might be wasted, man.”

Logan stared blearily at the shot the bartender plunked down in front of him, before raising it to his lips and knocking it back. Things were comfortably numb right now and approaching oblivion at a rapid pace. Just what he needed.

“Hey baby, buy you a drink?” Dick called at a pair of blonde and scantily clad coed types staggering by. One turned to her friend and whispered something and they both headed for the bar. Following their movement made him a little dizzy. He concentrated on the wood of the bar instead.

“What’ll you have, ladies? It’s on Dick.”

There was some chattering going on by his ear, and he could hear the girls placing their orders and saying something to Dick. Another shot appeared in front of his nose and he stared at it.

“Hi handsome, what’s your name? I’m Stacie.”

Logan managed to turn his head slightly to the right without upchucking. “Logan.” 

She had blonde hair. Blue eyes. Petite. Cute nose. He glanced down. Okay bigger boobs than Veronica. He kind of liked Veronica’s boobs the way they were though. Small, sure. But soft in his hands.

“Are your boobs soft?” he slurred.

Stacie giggled. “You want to touch them and see?” 

He shook his head very slowly, “I don’t think I’m supposed to do that anymore.” 

Dick reached an arm around Stacie and managed a grope. “Feels good to me. So Stacie, your friend Jessie and I were talking about taking this party somewhere a little more private, you game?”

“Sure thing, hot stuff. As long as your friend here is coming,” Stacie cooed.

“Excellent. Let me call for the car.” Dick whipped out his cell and called his mother’s driver to come pick them up.

Logan reached for the shot in front of him and downed it, then slurred, “Dick? Come over here.”

Dick followed him as he staggered a few steps away from the bar and pointed back at Stacie. “Dick, I can’t do this, man. She looks too much like her.”

“That’s the point, dude. Bang this chick and you’ll totally get little Ronnie out of your system. You said you two were done, right?” 

Logan just stared at him.

“You’re gonna thank me for this later,” Dick promised as he grabbed Logan’s cell away and flipped it open, scanning through the numbers. “She’s still #1 on your cell?” Dick shook his head as he punched the number. “Let’s settle this once and for all.”

* * *

Veronica flipped through the files again, staring at the black and white print as a hard knot formed in her stomach. The Milano crime family. Major drug sting. A commendation for her dad.

And the arrest of one Patrick Fitzpatrick. 

She wondered if the vows Father Fitzpatrick had taken really meant anything to him. Or was he the one who hired someone to take out Keith? Was he Bristow? The Fitzpatricks would have probably have known Campbell – it made sense they’d hire him as the shooter.

She flipped through the files again. Why would they come for her dad now, though, almost twenty years later? A file marked Frank wedged underneath the photocopied police records caught her eye and she pulled it free, opening it up to reveal bank records. 

“What does Dad always say?” she breathed. “Follow the money.” 

She closed the file and stooped to pick up a newspaper clipping that had fallen to the floor. She picked it up and read the headline. _Fresno detectives stumped in search for missing child._ She unfolded the clipping to find the smiling face of Rosa Ramirez staring back at her. 

Rosa? But how? She searched the clipping for a date as the door to the office burst open to reveal her furious father.

“Dad? I thought you were going to be at the Camelot for a few more hours,” she gasped, frantically pulling the files back together.

“Veronica, what have I told you? There are some things that you are not supposed to be involved in! Do you hear me?”

“I’m sorry,” Veronica scrambled to her feet, still clutching the clipping. “Dad, I need for you to talk to me, I need to know what’s going on. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Guess it’s too late for that, little girl.” The voice seemed to echo for a long time in her ears as everything else moved in slow motion. Campbell stood in the doorway, a small round hole centered in his forehead as he raised his arm and pointed the gun at her father, firing one shot even as she screamed and raced towards him.

Before she could reach him, another voice sounded from behind, “Hey, drop the gun.”

She could see Logan, that damn pistol he’d sworn he’d get rid of clutched firmly in his hand as the shooter swung around with a swiftness she didn’t expect from the dead and placed another shot clean through Logan’s chest.

She collapsed in the doorway between the fallen bodies as she blindly groped for her cell and its insistent chime and pulled it to her ear.

“Veronica? Whazzup?” Dick cackled as she rolled off the bed, her heart still racing a mile a minute as she jerked awake. 

“Give me the phone, Dick,” she heard in the background. 

“Veronica?” he slurred into the phone.

“Logan? Is that you? You’re okay? Where are you?” she asked frantically, almost sobbing as she tried to orient herself.

His voice was steadier as he responded, “Veronica? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

She took a shaky deep breath and held the phone away for a moment as she struggled to get her breathing and herself under control. “Logan, hey. Sorry, I’m fine. Really. Just a bad dream. Too much pizza.” She glanced at the clock. “And it’s 2:00 am. Why are you calling?”

She could hear some hesitation on his end. “Dick. He thought I should call. We’re drunk.”

She leaned her head back against the bed. Even drunk, just hearing his voice was a relief. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. You sure you’re alright? What were you dreaming about?” 

She tried for a laugh that didn’t quite make it. “I’m fine. Just a bad dream. You know, Paris Hilton, that sort of thing.” She stifled a yawn. “I’d better go, Logan. Be safe.”

“Bye, Veronica.” 

She sat the phone down carefully and padded into her dad’s room, thankfully to find him sleeping peacefully. She climbed quietly back onto her bed, patting it as Backup trotted in and settled beside her. “Thanks, boy, I need the company.”

* * *

Logan stared at the phone as Dick headed towards the exit, arms full with the two blondes whose names he couldn’t even remember anymore. He followed out into the street, still alive with people and color and light. 

He felt himself growing dizzy again and raced for the alleyway, upchucking the liquid contents of his stomach on the side of the building.

“Nicely done, man,” Dick laughed behind him. “That’s art.”

Logan propped himself up, hands on his knees and took a deep breath. “I have to go home, Dick. Now. Something’s wrong with Veronica.”

Dick glanced back over his shoulder at the waiting girls and then back at Logan. He shook his head. “Dude, you owe me for this one. Let’s go.”


	15. Ice, Ice, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica takes a case for a cute ice-skater. Logan copes with his jealousy. Keith looks into the case of the missing girls and makes a possible connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by HerOwlness and [sarah-p](http://sarah-p.livejournal.com/)  
> Their notes: _We've gotten a lot of input from the various AFD authors for this chapter, but we'd like to give special thanks to kantayra, mastermia, mutinousmuse, and onastick._  
>  _herowlness would like to especially thank Sarah for being an awesome cowriter and really making this experience a hell of a lot easier. I couldn't have done it without you, babe. :)_  
>  _sarah_p would like to thank Lizzy for being so darn hot. And for being an awesome co-writer. But mainly for the hot ;)._  
>  This was originally posted in two parts due to LiveJournal length limits. It's a nice, fluffy, LONG chapter. Enjoy!

Veronica looked up with a start from the worrisome newspaper article she was reading as the door to Mars Investigations swung open. Glad for the momentary distraction from the news of another Neptune girl gone missing, she watched Logan slowly shuffle in, looking a little bit worse for the wear. He was probably still recovering from everything that happened in Frisco with Dick, she mused. 

“Logan?” she asked. “I thought you and Dick were still in San Francisco. Let me guess – you guys got bored, decided to bring the party back home with you?"

Logan winced. “Actually, kind of the opposite. There are only so many times I can watch Dick try to pick up girls before I need a vacation from my vacation, so I cut things short. I got back last night.”

“Ahh, you forgot to take the Casablancas factor into account. When will you ever learn?”

Logan grinned and brought her attention to a box he had set on the couch when he entered. “Anyway, I figured you were probably here working and missing dinner, so I brought a pizza. Hungry?”

“ _Starving_ ,” Veronica responded. “How’d you know?”

He snorted. “Please, Veronica. Give me more credit than that. I know how you get when you work, and food isn't ever the first thing on your mind.”

Off her indignant glance he set the pizza on the desk and then rooted through the small kitchen until he came back with some plates and sodas. The two of them dug into the box and began to eat.

“What have you been up to lately?” he asked. “Anything interesting?”

“Well,” she began, ready to tell him about how worried her newest case had her – how she might be in over her head and that she didn't know where to go next, that maybe she needed a new perspective on things. But then she remembered how Logan groused that while they were dating, all she talked about was her work and how she was always too focused on her cases to do anything else. “Nothing much,” she finished, pushing the newspaper and her case notes aside so she could set her plate down. If Logan thought her priorities were out of whack, the least she could was juggle them a little now that he was here. She owed him that much.

“Oh. Cool,” Logan replied, taking a bite of his pizza. 

An awkward silence stretched out between them. Every time Veronica moved to say something, and Logan would just _look_ at her, she reconsidered and instead shoved more food into her mouth. 

Before the painful lack of conversation could get any worse, a young man who couldn’t have been much older than Veronica entered the office. She quickly shoved the pizza box aside and pulled out a notebook before looking closely at the potential client.

He was dressed conservatively; his pressed khakis and blue knit polo shirt doing wonders to accentuate his body. Veronica definitely approved of his workout regimen. 

Reminding herself not to ogle the clientele, she met his gaze, and he grinned at her. From beside her, a low grumbling emanated from Logan, pulling her out of her daze.

"Welcome to Mars Investigations," she said hastily, trying to cover her initial reaction. "How can I help you?"

Clearly attempting to dazzle her with his toothpaste-commercial smile, the man spoke. "I need some help, and I've heard this is the place to go.”

Flipping through her father's planner, Veronica nodded. "Well, it looks like you're in luck. Mr. Mars has some time before his next appointment. Could I have your name?" She picked up a pen, trying to look as professional as possible in her jeans and T-shirt, which now sported a small sauce stain that she hoped he hadn't noticed.

"Joey Evans," he responded. "I really appreciate you taking me on such short notice."

Veronica motioned towards the couch. "If you'll give me a moment, I'll check with Mr. Mars now."

She poked her head into the office. "You have time for a walk-in? There's a Joey Evans here to see you."

"Sure. Bring him in."

"Mr. Mars will see you now, Mr. Evans."

"Thanks a lot.” With that, he stepped into the office.

Quietly shutting the door, Veronica walked back to her desk, frowning. "Joey Evans. Doesn't that name sound familiar?" She looked at Logan. "I feel like I should know who he is."

"He’s probably, like, a cross dresser or something," Logan suggested, his instant dislike for the man obvious in his tone.

"Logan!" Veronica admonished, throwing a balled up napkin at him. "That's not it," she insisted, sitting down in front of her computer.

"You're going to Google him now? Tsk tsk, Veronica." Logan laughed. "Giving up so soon?"

"You don't _know_ that's what I was going to do," Veronica answered petulantly. 

Logan simply raised an eyebrow in response. 

"Fine. You win," she grumbled, closing the laptop. 

"So predictable. Hey, maybe he's some sort of serial killer!"

"Yeah. Because hiring a private investigator is _really_ going to help his cover," she returned, rolling her eyes. "If we don't figure this out in, like, ten minutes, I'm looking it up. Otherwise, it’ll bother me all day."

* * *

"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Mars. My name is Joey Evans."

Keith stood to shake his hand, evaluating the clean-cut man before him. 

"Good to meet you. Please, have a seat." Keith returned to his desk and pulled a legal pad out of the top drawer. "How can I help you?"

"Well, Mr. Mars, I'm an amateur figure skater, and a pretty good one by U.S. standards. I'm currently training for Nationals this January. Lately, though, I haven’t been skating as well as I could be. I’m being sabotaged, and it’s reached the point where I need a private investigator to make it stop."

"Sabotaged?" Keith asked, concerned. "Like threatening letter sabotage? Or are we talking Tonya Harding-style sabotage?" He glanced at the boy’s knee. Nothing _seemed_ to be out of order …

"Neither, actually," Joey admitted with a wry smile. "They’re just little things. Like, it didn't seem like that big of a deal _then_ , but looking back, it's just, like, a lot of stuff went wrong."

"I see," Keith agreed mildly. "When is your next competition, Joey?"

"Actually, I’m skating in an exhibition here in Neptune this weekend, so time is of the essence. Will you be taking my case?"

"It'll cost you two hundred a day," Keith informed him. "But, yes, I'll get started right away."

Joey thanked him and stood to exit the office. Hand on the doorknob, he turned back to face Keith again, hesitant. "I'm sure you're a very skilled detective, Mr. Mars, but I was wondering if _Veronica_ might be free to take my case. I've heard especially good things about her work."

An amused expression crossed Keith’s face. "Veronica, can you come in here?" Keith called out.

"What can I get you, Mr. Mars?" Veronica asked solicitously, forcing Keith to refrain from rolling his eyes at her formality. He appreciated that she took their business seriously, but there was no need for her to address him like that.

"Veronica, Joey was wondering if you'd have time to take his case. Think you can handle that?"

"Sure," she assured her father. 

"Can I get your number?" she requested, handing Joey a business card as he turned over one of his coach’s and scribbled down his number. Veronica then escorted Joey from the office, promising to call him later to set up a time for a complete case interview.

“You’re a figure skater, right?” Veronica asked, vindicated in her Google-less remembrance of the familiar name.

Joey grinned and gave her an appraising look that set off Keith's parental alerts.

"That I am. Cute _and_ smart. Quite a dangerous combination, Miss Mars."

Then he was gone, disappearing before she could respond. From his vantage point in the office doorway, Keith noticed the troubled look on Logan's expressive face. When Veronica turned towards him, any indication of Logan's concern about Joey working closely with Veronica disappeared. 

Wanting to break the silence, Keith joked, "So I'm already being phased out of the family business. Everyone wants to work with the impressive Veronica Mars."

"Dad! That's not true. Actually … ” Veronica trailed off uncertainly. “You remember how Weevil asked me to look into those missing girls from the barrio?"

Keith turned to her, alarmed. "Veronica, I thought I told you that I didn't want you working that case anymore. It's far too dangerous."

" _Dad_ , that's not important. What's important is that I’m at a dead end, and I’m _worried_ , and now another girl has gone missing.”

Worry lines creased his face as he digested that information. After a few moments, he nodded more to himself than to Veronica and asked, "What can you tell me?"

“Here, Dad.” She handed him a newspaper, pointing to an article on the front page. "Grace Manning disappeared yesterday."

* * *

"Thanks for coming, Veronica." Joey ushered her into the plush lobby of the Sunset Regent. "I know I said it before, but I really appreciate your taking this case. And - "

"Joey," Veronica laughed. "Stop. It's okay. This is my _job_ , you know. I'll do whatever I can."

He smiled brightly at her. "Still, I'm glad you're on the case." Joey looked around the lobby awkwardly. "So, uh, I guess we can go up to my room now." Eyes widening at the implication of his words, he quickly corrected himself. "Suite. My room's a suite. And we'll be in the living room. And my manager's up there. You know."

"So this _isn't_ some elaborate plan to seduce me? Darn." Veronica rolled her eyes as she pressed the elevator button. Sure, he was cute, but that seemed like all this guy had going for him. Well, there was a reason the guy was a figure skater and not a rocket scientist, right?

Still, with visions of a dead Tommy Joe Campbell haunting her while she slept each night, working on a case like this one with a guy who wasn’t especially shady or complex was a refreshing change of pace. 

It wasn't long before Joey ushered them into his suite. "Welcome to the latest of my 'homes away from home.'"

Veronica looked around, noting the decadence of the hotel room. Spying one personal touch on the otherwise bland walls, she moved towards it. A small bulletin board was propped against the wall, and her fingertips trailed over the attached papers.

"These are all yours?"

Joey nodded, smiling. "Yeah. I get a lot of mail. My manager tells me it's a waste of time to go through it all and that we can hire someone to do it, but I just, I can't. It takes hours, but I read _everything_. It's like, if these people can take the time to write, I should make time to read, right?"

"Yeah, but you have a _lot_ of fans," Veronica remarked, indicating the board. "Not everyone in your position would do that."

He looked down bashfully, reaching out to pluck a photo off of the bulletin board.

"I get letters, pictures, all kinds of things. See this kid?" Joey held the picture out. "He started skating because he watched me on TV. And this?" Joey pointed to a sloppy drawing where a black-crayon drawn blob floated on what was likely ice. "A little girl drew my long program at the Olympics. What kind of person would pass these off to a secretary?"

"Clearly someone who has a life,” Veronica muttered. Scanning the letters again, she raised an eyebrow at one tacked to the bottom of the board. "Wow. Some people send you erotic fiction." Her eyes widened as she read further. "Starring you. Apparently a very _naked_ you."

Joey laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, some people - women, mostly - are a bit over the top, I guess. This one lady sent me a pair of her underwear." Joey shuddered. "She sent a picture, too. She was, like, sixty. Not pretty."

"Hey, look at this one," Veronica said, desperate to change the subject. “It's signed 'your biggest fan.' That has to make you feel good."

"It really does. I skate because I love it. I can't imagine doing anything else. When people respond like this … " he trailed off with a shrug. "It kind of validates everything, you know? I use this board as motivation. Whenever I think I should have done better or feel like quitting, I look at all this." Joey sighed wistfully. "There are so many people who believe in me, and I can't let them down. Remembering that makes it easier to wake up at four in the morning to drive to the rink."

Veronica raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Maybe she was jaded from a lifetime in Neptune, but Joey seemed way too sentimental for a twenty year old _guy_.

Sitting down quickly, Veronica pulled out a notebook and pen. "We should get started."

"Sure." Joey sat beside her. "Where do we start? Madison wasn't really clear on how this whole detective thing works."

" _Madison_?" Veronica asked in surprise. "Madison _Sinclair_?"

"Yeah. Like I told your dad, I came to you because a friend recommended Mars Investigations, you in particular."

"Wait. You're telling me that Madison Sinclair – who has gone out of her way to get on my last nerve ever since the third grade - actually _recommended_ us?"

"Well," Joey shifted uncomfortably and dodged her gaze. "Not exactly. She told me how she was harassed earlier this summer, and that you, somehow, made it stop." He looked at Veronica intently. "Look, I don't want to turn them into the police or anything. I just need these 'accidents' to stop happening. As soon as possible."

Veronica coughed. "I don't know if Madison told you, but I never found out who was harassing her. It was just a coincidence that everything stopped after she hired me. How are you so sure I'm going to be able to help you?"

Joey rolled his eyes, clearly amused. "It takes a lot to get Madison to stop complaining. If you managed to do that, then I _know_ you can help me. I just need results. Fast. Can you do that?"

Veronica nodded slowly. "I'll do what I can. What've you got for me?"

Lifting an overstuffed plastic bag off of the coffee table, Joey thrust it at Veronica. "I had my manager put together these tapes and newspaper articles from all of the events where something’s happened."

She nodded. "Can I take this with me? I'll need to go through it a few times to see if I can find any common threads between the incidents."

"Keep 'em. Anything else you need?"

"These tapes - are they the network footage?"

Joey blushed. "Not exactly. My mother comes to every competition and tapes them all. Let's just say that my early stuff isn't very flattering."

"I can imagine," Veronica laughed. "Could I get tapes of the full competitions? The television coverage would be best so I can scan the crowd shots."

"Sure. I'll ask my manager tonight."

"Great." She set the tapes down and leafed through her notes. "Why don't we start by going over each of the incidents?"

"They’re just little things. Like someone sent me some oatmeal cookies. They must have had tomatoes in them because I had an anaphylactic reaction, and my only food allergy is to tomatoes. I couldn't skate because of it. Or, a different time, someone sprinkled _glitter_ on my costume for my short program. Skating clothes are kind of tight to begin with, and the addition of even something as small as glitter can create problems in terms of irritation and distraction. I fell on three jumps that day."

Veronica scribbled down notes as he spoke. "Okay, next we should probably cover potential suspects. Is there anyone who might hold a grudge against you?”

"No," Joey replied after thinking for a moment. "Not that I know of, at least."

Veronica eyed him critically. Everyone was hated by _someone_. It was a fact of life. Except for her, of course. She had the joy of being hated by a whole lot of someones. Watching as Joey meticulously adjusted the cuffs on his shirt sleeves, she sighed. Somehow, she could actually believe that the man sitting before her didn't think he had _any_ enemies. She'd never actually seen that as a disadvantage before, but with people in Neptune being as "popular" as they were, she had never lacked an investigational starting point. This could be tricky.

"Okay. The obvious suspects, I'd think, would be someone you skate against.”

Joey shrugged. "I've considered those guys myself, but if they got caught doing this, their careers would be over. The stakes are way too high. Besides, I've checked. No one person has skated with me at all of the competitions where stuff has happened."

"Yeah, but Joey, people? Are mean and petty. You don't think someone might try to unnerve you? If you're waiting around for something bad to happen, then you're distracted, and they'd have the advantage, right?"

"I guess so," Joey agreed after a long pause. "But I don't think so. They're all good guys, and we get along okay off the ice. I can't see any of them resorting to sabotage."

Veronica sighed. The boy's faith in humanity was naïve, and unfortunately, it seemed she was going to have to be the one to show him that life wasn't all sunshine and unicorns. She'd look into his competitors, regardless of what he said.

"This doesn't leave me much to go on," she mused out loud.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I don’t know what else will help.”

"There's no way that these tapes are going to be enough. Since most of the accidents have happened at consecutive events, we have to figure your saboteur is planning something for this exhibition, so they're going to be at the rink when you are."

"Do you think they're dangerous?" Joey asked, concern creeping into his voice.

"Probably not. They haven't tried to really hurt you. Everything has been small enough to _maybe_ go undetected. Still, I might need to go undercover.” 

"Undercover, huh? This is like one of those B-grade detective movies," he responded with an earnest smile. "Are you going to, like, pose as my girlfriend or something?"

Veronica ignored Joey's hopeful tone, shifting further down the couch and away from his lame pick-up lines. "Of course not. Way too obvious. I'm all about being discreet." She idly tapped her pen against her chin, hoping to be hit by a burst of inspiration. "I could register to skate with the women and just withdraw before the actual event. Then I'd have access to the locker rooms and the skater-only areas."

"Impossible," Joey countered, hardly giving her idea a second thought. "There's no way the league would let you get away with that. Even if you never stepped on the ice, people could tell. It's a skater thing, you know? You'd stick out like a sore thumb. Not to mention the noticeable lack of sequined spandex in your wardrobe." 

Veronica snorted. "Fair enough. But how do I _get_ access, then? Can I pose as a member of your staff or as a rink employee?"

"Well, most skaters have a bunch of coaches and staff. Choreographers, managers, jump specialists - all that stuff. You'd probably be able to get away with acting as my strength and conditioning coach or something."

She pursed her lips. "Ooh. I like the sound of that" She tilted her head and reevaluated him. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

Joey smiled. "Never. Although, as my new coach, are there any exercises you'd recommend? I need some help with my biceps."

Standing up quickly, Veronica brushed off his suggestive glance with a well-placed glare. The chirp of her cell phone was enough to break the moment, and she thanked whoever was calling for their impeccable timing. Excusing herself, Veronica whipped out the phone as she exited the suite.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Veronica? It's Logan."

"Oh. Hi.”

"So, uh, what's up?"

"Not much. I'm just, you know, working on a case and stuff." Veronica frowned, wondering why he was calling.

"Oh. Cool."

"Logan? Was there a reason - "

"Yeah. Of course. I mean, how's the case going? Are you, like, tracking down suspects? Kicking ass and taking names?"

Veronica laughed. "I'm not quite there yet. Right now, all I can do is keep an eye on Joey."

Silence.

"Logan? You still there?"

"I'm here." Logan's voice sounded strained, almost as if he were in physical pain. "So you're hanging around with this Joey guy a lot? Is he there right now?"

"What?"

"Is he with you now?"

"Well, he was. I'm on my way out of the hotel now. Why?"

"His hotel? Wow, Veronica. It only took you two a _day_? Obviously, I was doing something wrong.”

"God, Logan," Veronica admonished, sounding harsher than intended. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. It's fine. _I_ am fine. He - he's a nice guy. There's nothing to worry about."

"Right," Logan replied sharply. "Nothing to worry about. I'll talk to you later, Veronica."

"Logan?" She tried. "Logan?"

Cavernous silence - just as expansive as the emotional void that stretched between them - was all that was left on the line.

* * *

"Thank you for your help, Mrs. Dobkins. I'll do everything I can to find Grace."

Finishing his conversation with Grace's teacher, Keith hung up the phone and let out a long sigh. 

According to reports, Grace Manning had made it home without incident after school the previous day. Her parents told the police that she'd been playing with her dolls in the backyard, and her mother had been watching her while she made dinner. She turned away from the window for "just a moment" to grab potatoes from the pantry, and when she returned, Grace was gone.

Grace was nine, so it was unlikely that she had some illicit boyfriend who had whisked her away because of her parents' disapproval. He'd asked questions of her teachers, wondering if they'd heard about any new friends, or if they'd seen any questionable figures near the schoolyard. He'd contacted the parents of her friends, not wanting to scare young girls without good reason. He'd asked if they'd seen or heard anything troubling in the area of their homes recently.

Despite all this, he had made little to no progress. 

There was only one more family left to call, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Reluctantly, he dialed and heard the phone pick up after the first ring.

"Grace?" a harried female voice answered. Keith hated to disappoint her.

"No, Mrs. Manning. Keith Mars. I'm looking into your daughter's disappearance. I was hoping you wouldn't mind answering some questions."

"We need to keep the line open, in case Grace tries to call," she informed him coolly.

"I'd be happy to stop by, if that's more convenient," he offered.

"We take care of our own, Mr. Mars. I don't need any troublemakers looking into matters that aren't their concern," she said, her voice filled with indignation.

The dial tone sounding in his ear, Keith considered dropping the case. Clearly, the Mannings didn't want him involved, and there was probably a bail jumper he could track down somewhere.

Then his gaze met the obligatory school photograph of Grace Manning. She was a beautiful little girl – blonde hair, blue eyes. She looked something like Veronica did when she was younger. And if he were honest with himself, he had to admit that if Veronica was ever taken from him, he would be broken beyond repair.

He couldn't begrudge the Mannings for refusing to talk to him. He wasn't formally involved with the investigation, and they had no reason to trust him. They were just worried about their little girl, wanting nothing more than to get her back safe and sound as quickly as possible.

No. He wouldn't give up, not until that little girl was found.

* * *

Looking around the rink, Veronica inhaled deeply before someone bumped into her. Hard. 

"God, they let _anyone_ in here these days, don't they? What are you even doing here, Veronica? Shouldn't you be off finding some new way to ruin Logan's life or something?"

"Madison," Veronica bit out, attempting not to let the other girl's words rile her too much. "What a surprise. See, I'd say 'pleasant,' but … " She drew a finger to her chin in pseudo-contemplation, and then held up said finger, as if having a revelation. "Oh, that's right. It's not. What do you want?"

"What do _I_ want?" Madison's eyes flitted to center ice, where Joey was warming up. "I want there to be some place in Neptune that isn't full of people that aren't fit to breathe my air. Isn't this, like, too far from your trailer park?"

"Actually, Madison, I - " Veronica's words cut off abruptly she followed Madison's line of vision. "I'm here to talk to my new friend. You might know him - Joey Evans?" She batted her eyes innocently. "We've gotten _very_ close over the past few days."

"Oh, my God, is this, like, some sort of joke?" Madison's eyes widened at Veronica's triumphant grin. "You're so not even close to being in Joey's league. He needs someone classy, Veronica. Not a girl who'll give it up to anyone who asks."

"Really?" Veronica inquired sweetly. "If that's the case, then I suppose it wouldn't hurt to just go over and _talk_ to him, right? I mean, if I'm so low on the totem pole, does it even matter?"

Madison smiled winningly, oblivious to Veronica's patently obvious sarcasm. "Why don’t you just run along home and solve mysteries or whatever it is you do when you're not horizontal. I'll take care of Joey." She stared at Veronica for a few seconds. "Are you deaf? I told you to leave. Or else."

Veronica frowned. Madison tossing around empty threats was nothing new, but given what had been happening to Joey, was it possible for someone like Madison Sinclair to actually be able to successfully sabotage him even once, let alone multiple times? And _would_ she, after being similarly harassed? She seemed much more like the type of girl who would prance around in lingerie to get the attention of a guy. Or, hell - even _mail_ him some. 

"Or else what, Madison? You'll take me out? Have someone hit me in the leg so Joey and I can't achieve our dream of skating pairs together? Let the air out of my tires so I can't make the secret midnight rendezvous we've planned?"

Madison snorted loudly. "As if. I'd probably get some nasty disease." Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at Veronica menacingly. "I have friends. _Lots_ of friends. Do you remember what it was like after Lilly died? I can make your life a living hell if you don't leave Joey alone. Actually, it'd be kind of fun – just like old times. Do you _really_ want to go through that again?"

Veronica stared at Madison for a moment. Then, she began to laugh.

"Madison, you do realize that I don't give a damn about what any of your friends think, right? High school is over. I mean, I'm pretty much past all that stuff. Makes sense, though. You need to retaliate on your own level. Hey, I know! Maybe when you're done gossiping, you can get out the crayons and draw a mean picture of me! Won't that be fun?" Veronica's smile was wide and patronizing.

"How _dare_ you! You just wait, Veronica. Someday, you'll get what you deserve!" Madison turned on her heel and flounced off angrily. Before she left the rink, she called over her shoulder. "And you'd _really_ better stay away from him!"

* * *

Stifling a yawn, Veronica picked her way through the crowds milling around the rink. Hours of reviewing Joey's tapes hadn't revealed much, so she had to rely on her access as Joey's coach to find some answers. 

She'd talked to a number of Joey's competitors, but most of them seemed to lack the inherent brainpower to mastermind a sabotage attempt. And after checking out participation lists, Joey had been right – no one person had been present at each event where something happened, and had solid alibis as to their whereabouts when they weren’t competing. If the competitors weren't to blame, her incredibly short list of potential suspects was disappearing before her very eyes.

Back at square one, Veronica thought back to what Joey had said about his mother obsessively taping his performances. She knew about the dreaded ‘show biz’ parents. Could a skater's parents do the same?

Apparently, they could. Joey’s choreographer had been more than happy to tell her about the overzealous skating parent, and how some of them seemed to live out their failed dreams through their children. Most parents, as involved as they were in their children’s skating, still wouldn’t be able to get enough clearance to have access to Joey. Parents who also served as their child’s coach, or worked for them in some capacity aroused Veronica's suspicions, until she learned that most of the hard-core skating families on the circuit wouldn't be in Neptune, and were saving themselves for actual competition.

Their children evidently hadn't had a run of "bad luck," as some of Joey's competitors had termed it, and hadn't needed to use the Neptune exhibition as another warm-up to ensure that they were in top competition form.

Mulling over her options, Veronica watched Joey finish up his practice. He was definitely right - whatever ice skating skills she had were _nothing_ compared to what he and the other skaters could do. Had she attempted to enter their ranks as a competitor, she'd have been painfully out of place.

Besides, strength and conditioning coaches practically had an all-access pass to the guy's locker room. Not that she'd ever _abuse_ that privilege, but it was good to know – just in case.

"Veronica?"

At the sound of her name, Veronica turned to see Joey step off the ice.

"Joey, hi. You were looking pretty good out there."

"Really?"

"Really. Your jumps are looking great. Anyway, I’ve been digging around, but we're still at a dead end. Your competitors look clean."

"My competitors? I told you that they weren’t involved."

"I know," Veronica responded, refraining from rolling her eyes. She couldn't expect Joey to know as much about the PI business as she did. That's why she was making the big bucks, after all. "What kind of investigator would I be if I didn't follow every lead? Face it, Joey, no matter how nice these guys seem, the people you're competing against are the most likely to sabotage you because they have the most to gain. If I ignored that, I'd be hurting your case." She noticed his skeptical look. "What? It’s true.”

"Yeah, yeah." Joey patted her on the back. "You just keep telling yourself that." Veronica froze, painfully aware that Joey had made no move to remove his hand. When it became clear he wasn’t going to, she took a step closer to the ice and further from him, escaping his touch. Glancing over his shoulder, her brow furrowed.

"Joey?"

"Yeah, Veronica?"

"Whatever happened between you and Madison?"

He quirked an eyebrow in surprise. "Wow, not what I was expecting. Look, if you're worried, you shouldn't be. Nothing's going on. I mean, we've never even dated. Madison wanted to, but she's really not my type, and - "

"No, Joey." Veronica's eyes widened in horror at his assumption. "I wasn't asking because of – I mean, behind you. On the bleachers. Madison is just _glaring_." 

“Oh. Yeah, she does that from time to time.” Moving closer to Veronica, Joey leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Maybe she has a crush on me. Are you jealous?"

Trailing a finger down her arm was the final straw, and Veronica pushed him away. “Whoa, down boy,” she said, making no effort to be subtle in her evasion of his advances this time around. “Whatever mating ritual you two have going on is fine, but I want no part in it.” Putting a good amount of space between her and Romeo, she cast another glace at the bleachers. “Madison looks _really_ angry though. Maybe angry enough to take action."

"I don't think Madison could do something like that," Joey insisted. “Besides, she was in Europe with her parents during my last few competitions, when most of this happened.

"Well, I didn't mean that she _physically_ did it. Maybe she hired someone.”

"The Sinclairs are family friends,” he explained. “Our dads were frat brothers together back in the day, so ever since Madison and I were really little, we've seen a lot of each other. I started skating when I was five, and I stopped seeing so much of her. Between practices and competitions and stuff, I've been too busy to make it out here."

"So you and Madison have never been together? Not even kissed? There's no spurned lover thing going on?"

He shook his head. "She's more like a sister to me than anything else," Joey confided. "I only have a brother, Ben, and he's only twelve. It was nice to hang with someone my own age. Just as friends, I swear.” 

Veronica raised an eyebrow. "Somehow, I doubt she feels the same."

"Whatever," Joey said, dismissing her concerns without a second thought. "My mom and Ben just flew in, and they want to meet the woman who's _finally_ going to make all of this stop."

Veronica resisted the urge to find some excuse to flee, knowing that while Joey might view this as her chance to "meet the family," this was really her opportunity to see if there was anything else that Joey hadn't thought to tell her.

Resigning herself to the likely awkward and uncomfortable situation, she followed Joey. As long as he stayed out of her personal space, everything would be just fine.

This case was just turning into a barrel of laughs.

* * *

"Dude, it's about fucking time you surfed with us, Logan. I knew you couldn't stay away for long, chick or no chick."

"Yeah, man," JP piped up from beside Dick as the two shared an enthusiastic high-five. "We've got some great waves today. Let's do this thing!" Grabbing his board, he took off for the water, leaving Dick and Logan on the shoreline.

"You remember how to do this?"

"Shut it, Dick," Logan grunted, smacking his friend upside the head. "I'm here, aren't I? Do you want to me to make you look like a loser now, or should I wait until later?"

"There are three things in my life you can't diss, and my surfing is one of them. You _know_ that. What's up with you?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "When did you turn into such a girl?"

"Asshole," Dick mumbled, slamming the door of the car as he took his gear out. "I'll let it go this time, but if you say anything about my hair…"

Logan laughed and shook his head, and the two moved down the beach. When Dick sat back on the sand with a put-upon sigh, Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Dick? Surfing? Wasn't that the plan?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied. "In a minute. I just need a second to mourn."

"Mourn?" Logan looked over at Dick, concerned. Mentions of Beaver had been few and far between all summer. Logan knew that Dick was struggling with everything that had happened, but he also realized that his friend was coping in the same way he lived his life - with a smile on his face and a party in his pants. If they were going to start talking about his dead brother, Logan wasn't quite sure what he was going to - 

"Yeah. Mourn my lack of action. Fuck, I haven't gotten laid in, like, forever."

" _That's_ what you're so down about?"

"Yeah," he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Girls used to be, like, easy and stuff. Now they want dates and romance and shit. It's not fair, man."

"Wow, Dick," Logan intoned brightly. "Way to put things in perspective."

"Fuck off," Dick groaned, flinging a hand dramatically over his eyes. "If you hadn’t gotten all emo and shit in San Francisco, I totally would have scored with those two lovely ladies. Now I just need to wallow or something. Hey!" He sat up suddenly. "Any pointers? You've had so much practice this summer."

"Fuck you, Dick. If you're that desperate, why don't you just call Madison or something? Or are you two still pretending that you don't hook up every time something better doesn't come along?"

"Madison. Dude. You're a fucking genius! Ever since she and that old dude split, she's been pretty desperate. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner!"

Shaking his head and settling back on the sand, Logan closed his eyes. "Wake me up when you're done, and we'll see if we can actually get some surfing in."

"Whatever," Dick responded, dialing his phone. "Hey, Madison! Babe! What are you doing on this fine, fine day?"

Logan groaned and listened as Dick tried to work his magic.

"Ice skating? That's totally the pussiest sport ever. What are you doing at the rink? It's the middle of summer, Mad."

Logan perked up immediately at the mention. If Madison was at the ice rink, she could probably see whatever was going on with Veronica and –

"Trailer trash? Who is it?" Dick asked quickly, shooting a glance towards Logan. "Ohh. What the hell is she doing there?"

There was a lengthy pause, and Logan could make out Madison's muffled voice. 

"She's all over him? Really? Fuck. I guess that means Lo - " Dick stopped for a second, wide-eyed as he suddenly developed some sense of tact. "Lo - Lorne. The dude can finally move on, right? So, anyway, the reason I called … No, Madison. Yeah, he's here. No, I can't. Dude, who the fuck cares if he's flirting with Veronica? Are you coming over tonight or what?"

Standing up and moving away from Dick's likely failed attempt at a booty call, Logan grabbed his own phone and made a call. He’d find out for himself what was going on with Veronica and that potential cross-dressing, serial-killing, unfortunately probably ungay skater.

"Hey, Wallace? Yeah, man. It's Logan. I know it's been a little while, but - " He frowned as he heard a high-pitched giggle in the background. "Are you with a girl?"

"It's been known to happen," Wallace remarked dryly. "I'm kind of in the middle something. You called me, though, so smart money says this has to do with Veronica. Spill. In as few words as possible."

"Right. If you're busy, I can do this myself, but I was just wondering if you wanted to work together again. For old time's sake. I don't know if you heard about what Veronica's been working on lately, but there's this skater guy, and - "

"You seriously interrupted my make-out session to tell me that you're worried about Veronica and the big bad figure skater? She could probably take that guy in her sleep."

"It’s not that," Logan hedged. "Veronica's just jumping right in, like always, and there could be trouble. We need to go undercover. With code names and stuff."

Wallace sighed. "You're just afraid that she's moving on, aren't you?”

“Well … ” Logan trailed off, not wanting to admit it but also knowing that Wallace saw through him better than most – especially when it came to Veronica. 

“Fine, Echolls, but you _owe_ me. Big time.”

"Thanks, man. I'll call back with details later." Logan ended the call abruptly, allowing Wallace to get back to business.

"Yo," JP jogged up the beach. "What the fuck, guys? I've been out there, like, forever, and you two are dicking around up here? Let's go."

"Actually, I've gotta bail. Something came up, sorry." Logan gathered his stuff and turned to Dick. "You can ride home with JP, right?"

"I guess." Dick frowned. "What's up? Is this about me and Madison? Because we're not hooking up until later, if you're jealous or whatever."

"Dude, trust me, this is _not_ about Madison. Later, man."

"Whatever, dude."

JP nodded goodbye as Logan made his way back to the parking lot. Dick's voice carried above the crash of the tide, reaching Logan on his way out.

"Hey, what do you think about hitting that new strip club later? I can ditch Madison for a few more hours. It can be, like, a guy's night. You can celebrate your freedom to hook up with anything that moves. Sound good, man?"

The slamming of the Xterra's door and the sound of tires peeling out of the parking lot was the only response.

* * *

Keith read the notes Veronica had given him carefully. She'd been very reluctant to give up her notes – even though she had been the one to _ask_ for his input on the case – but despite her hesitancy, they both knew that the risk of something terrible happening to Grace increased exponentially the longer that she remained missing.

He wanted to hope that she'd given him this case because she _finally_ realized that she was in over her head, that it was too dangerous for her to investigate. He'd tried to get her out of the private eye business, but she was just too stubborn. Deep down, he knew that she'd be back to investigating the kidnappings before long, despite the risk to herself.

He wanted to take her away from this, protect her from everything, and keep her safe. She wouldn't let him, and if he pushed too hard he risked losing his daughter even more than he already had.

No, what he needed was to do this for her, to find Grace, to crack the case, to show her that even though he had let her down in the past, she could depend on him. She could trust him.

He was her father. He owed her that much at least.

* * *

"Hey, Veronica!" Joey called as he stepped off of the ice. "How goes it?"

"Slowly,” she offered. “ _Can’t_ we just blame it on Madison? Really, if you think about - "

"Excuse me?" A gruff voice broke in. "Joey Evans?"

"Yeah," Joey nodded. "That's me."

"These are for you. Special delivery from Manny's Flower Hut." A brightly colored bouquet was thrust towards Joey, and a helium balloon with 'good luck' printed on it topped off the arrangement. Before Joey took the gift, Veronica intercepted it.

"Thanks," she said to the elderly delivery man, who was already shuffling off. To Joey, she explained. "Considering all that's happened, I should look at these, just in case. This could be the next attempt."

Joey nodded and watched as Veronica carefully studied the flowers. “So?”

“Everything seems to be okay, so, enjoy.” She held the flowers out to him. Before he could take them, a hand appeared out of nowhere and intercepted them.

“Joey!” A very frantic Mrs. Evans shouted, clutching the bouquet. “What are you doing?” She tossed the flowers in a trash can and began steering her son away from it. “There were daffodils. Did you forget? Your hay fever is bad enough as it is, but those are the _worst_ on you. You’d never be able to skate if you were sneezing that much. Oh, honey,” she clucked sympathetically. “My poor little boy. It’s a good thing I was here! You need to pay more attention!”

“Moooooom,” Joey admonished, clearly embarrassed. “Veronica and I are _talking_ here.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Of course, sweetie.” She turned him towards her and studied him, then slicked his hair back with a spit-soaked finger. “You keep on talking to you friend. Your brother and I are going to talk to rink security about this. How did that delivery man even get back here? Someone should be watching the doors. Come on, Ben. Let’s leave Joey and his girlfriend alone.”

“I’m not – “ Veronica broke in quickly.

“Bye, Mom,” Joey replied, pushing the woman away. “See you later, okay?” Waving her off, he turned back to Veronica and smiled. “Sorry about that. This whole sabotage thing has her a little on edge.”

“Right. So…you’re allergic to those flowers? And you just forgot?” Veronica sighed. Sure, the boy was cute, and he was definitely interested in her, but…ouch. She wasn’t asking for Einstein or anything, but this was ridiculous.

“Sorta.” Joey shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention…to the flowers.” He smiled winningly.

 _Oh, brother,_ Veronica groaned inwardly. Was he for real? “Anyway, before your mom ran off with the flowers, I snagged this.” She held the card that had come with them up between two fingers. “Let’s see who we have to thank for this little gift.” 

_Joey -_

_Good luck tomorrow! I can't wait to see you skate. You're the hottest thing on the ice!_

_\- YOUR BIGGEST FAN!!!!!_

"So?" Joey asked anxiously. "Who is it?"

“That’s weird.” She frowned. “ _You_ didn’t even remember you were allergic to those flowers. How would someone else know enough to send them?”

"I don’t know. What do we do?"

Veronica smiled. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

Once again, Keith pored over Veronica’s notes. He'd noted a reference to Professor Tyler Wilson's psychological assessments. Apparently, some of the missing girls – Marisol Reyes, Rosa Ramirez, and Tracy Gonzalez – had been research subjects. Keith knew from years of work on the police force that eighty-two percent of all child abductions were committed by someone the child knew, and through his job, Wilson had had an easy in with scores of school age girls.

Of course, he also knew that after the first twenty-four hours, the probability of finding a missing child alive dropped. Significantly.

He didn't dwell on that, instead focusing on getting answers for the families of the missing girls and preventing the disappearance of any more Neptune schoolchildren. Veronica's notes indicated that she no longer considered him to be a suspect after she'd checked out his criminal record and run his file. However, if the professor had any connections to James K. Polk Middle School where Grace Manning attended school, Keith would have to reevaluate him as a suspect.

Keith reached for the phone and dialed, waiting for his daughter to answer her cell phone.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, sweetie. How are you doing?"

"Good, I think. The latest sabotage attempt was averted by Joey's mom, believe it or not. What about you? Have you had any luck tracking down Grace?"

"That's actually why I'm calling," Keith clarified, torn between wanting to keep her completely removed from the case and saving himself a few extra hours of legwork. However, Veronica had had a point when she'd first mentioned this case – the important thing here was to realize that the lives of a number of little girls hung in the balance. If Veronica could speed up this investigation, that was for the best. "Do you remember Professor Tyler Wilson?"

"The creep from the psychology department at Hearst? Yeah, definitely. What's going on? I looked into him a few weeks ago, but I couldn’t find anything that would stick."

"Do you remember if he did any of his research at any other Neptune schools, other than East Neptune Middle School?" he asked.

"Um." She paused for a moment, giving his question due consideration. "I don’t think so. I'm pretty sure that all the files Logan and I found in his office were _only_ for East Neptune."

"You're positive? Nothing at all on James K. Polk Middle School?" he pressed, wanting to be certain that the name wouldn't ring any bells. Of course, if she did change her answer at the name, it meant that he'd have to verify that fact, but he preferred to be thorough rather than leaving a possible line of investigation untouched.

"No, Dad, I would have remembered if Wilson was involved with JKP. I mean, that’s where I went to school. I wouldn't forget something like that. Why?"

"Thanks, honey," he responded, brushing off her question. "I'll see you at home later tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Bye."

Replacing the receiver, Keith stared down at his case notes. Now what?

* * *

The next morning, Veronica exhaled in frustration as she rewound the tapes for what felt like the hundredth time. She wanted to see a fan holding a sign, proclaiming them to be "Joey's biggest fan," or something equally obvious, but she'd had no such luck yet. Of course, there were the typical "marry me" signs addressed to each of the halfway decent-looking skaters, but nothing indicated that anyone in particular was Joey's biggest fan.

She drove to Manny's Flower Hut, hoping some simple investigating would be enough to identify the saboteur. If she was lucky, someone other than Manny would be working. In the event that the culprit hadn’t paid by check or credit card, she knew from previous experience that he wasn't very good at describing patrons.

The bells above the door chimed with her entrance, and Veronica was relieved to see Susan Knight walk in from the back room.

"Hey, Susan. How are you? How's your little boy?"

"I'm doing great. Sean is growing bigger every day. He said his first word a few months ago. He's going to be so smart," she bragged proudly. "How about you, Veronica?"

"I'm fine. I'm going to Hearst this fall, and I'm still helping my dad out with some cases. Which, actually, is why I'm here. I have a client who’s being stalked by a crazed fan, and I need to figure out who’s behind it all."

"And you think it has something to do with us?" Susan asked, flabbergasted.

"Not directly. He got a bouquet and a balloon that looked like that one," Veronica pointed towards a replica of the one Joey received. "The card said that the balloon, at least, came from here. I was hoping you could check to see if it was paid for with a check or credit card? Or could I look at the security tape so I can identify the person?"

"We have security cameras, but Manny rerecords over the old tape the next day. He doesn't see why they'd be important, except in the case of a robbery," Susan apologized. "But if you don't mind waiting, I check up on the sale."

"That would be great, Susan. Thanks."

Susan slipped into the back, and the bells above the entryway chimed. Veronica was more than a bit surprised at who she saw walking towards her.

"Veronica Mars," a warm voice greeted her. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Not since Logan's housewarming party," she agreed. "It's good to see you, Casey. What have you been up to?"

"Actually," he said conspiratorially, "I just signed this biography that's gotten a lot of press for my family's publishing company."

"That's great!" she enthused. "I'm sure your parents are really proud."

"They actually don't know yet. All they really care about is that the company makes enough money to keep them in luxury cars and country club memberships. They'll find out at the press conference tomorrow, with the rest of the world."

"Wow, so I'm like the first to know?"

"Outside of our lawyers and the guy's agent and some top executives? Yeah."

"I feel so important. Now if only Gant Publishing were publicly traded, I could actually make some _money_ off of this deal."

He laughed. "Enough about me and my boring life. How are you? How's Logan?"

"I'm good. I'm actually here working on a case. And I think Logan's fine," she finished reluctantly, offering Casey an unsure smile.

"Are you two … " he trailed off awkwardly, apparently not wanting to say "broken up."

"Yeah, for a few weeks now." He opened his mouth to offer some clichéd platitude, but she waved him off. "It's fine. Life is simpler this way, you know?"

Her words were true, but they weren't the entire truth. While her life _was_ simpler without Logan, it was also a lot less exciting.

"Well, nice running into you, Veronica."

"You too, Casey," she agreed, watching him walk towards a case full of pre-prepared arrangements.

Veronica turned to the counter, offering Susan an encouraging smile. "Did you find anything?"

"The good news is that we've only sold one of those balloons in the past week, so I know who must have made the purchase. The thing is, he paid with cash. Sorry."

"Were you working then? Do you remember what he looked like?" Veronica pressed.

"Well, the receipt says he came by early yesterday – just after we opened. The only person I can remember is a kid. He was adorable.”

Veronica refrained from rolling her eyes. Susan was just answering her questions and telling her about the boy she'd helped. It wasn’t her fault that evil came in all shapes and sizes. "Do you remember anything about his appearance?"

"Um, he was a few inches shorter than I am, with light brown hair. His voice, that was different too. Like he had a lisp or something, I think?"

"Okay, thanks, Susan. Give me a call if you remember anything else?"

"Will do. Take care, Veronica."

* * *

"What the hell is all this crap?" Wallace asked as he met up with Logan in the rink parking lot. He dug through the duffel bag and encountered more and more doo-dads that he wasn't familiar with.

"Technology," Logan responded succinctly. "Just in case we need it.”

"Need it for _what_? I thought we were just here to make sure that skater guy isn’t putting the moves on V. You have enough gadgetry here to outfit a team of CIA agents."

"Just put on the damn earpiece, Wallace." 

"Tell me again why we had to be here so damn early?"

"So we can see what’s going on before all the fans get here,” Logan explained, handing Wallace a map of the building with different areas marked off and highlighted in an organized manner. "The sectors in blue are yours, and I'll cover the ones marked in green. If you find anything, let me know," he instructed, motioning towards their com sets. "Any questions?"

Wallace looked over the map Logan had created in disbelief. Even Veronica would be impressed. Which, he suddenly realized, was probably the point. With a sigh he looked up. "Let's just get this over with." 

It wasn't too much later when Logan spied Veronica and Joey from across the ice. They were only talking – thankfully – but Joey was much too close to her for Logan’s peace of mind. He had his hand on her shoulder, and was leaning towards her. Fucking _leaning_. Thankfully, Veronica stepped away from him before he got any closer.

"What the hell kind of name is Joey anyhow?" he muttered. "A _real_ man would go by Joe. Or Joseph."

"What?" Wallace's voice crackled in his ear.

"Uh, checking out Sector 1-C right now."

"Oookay," was Wallace’s only response.

Watching some more from across the ice, Logan sighed. He didn’t know if things with Joey were serious, but Veronica deserved so much better. She deserved a man, not a frilly skater boy. She deserved someone who could watch her back, but who could still stand up to her and be her equal.

Someone like him.

But they weren't good for each other. He knew that, deep down inside. And that's why he'd broken it off.

Of course, that didn't stop him from thinking about her. It didn’t stop him from wanting her.

He was well and truly fucked.

And not at all like he wanted to be.

* * *

Hours later, Keith still hadn't made any progress on the case. He'd used Veronica's notes and the related newspaper articles he'd found on the internet, and he checked and double-checked to see if anything was missing. 

Frustrated, he started compiling a list of all the missing girls and their demographics. The key to finding out who'd taken them would likely rest in their commonalities. It took some time and a number of database searches, but eventually he had it.

The similarities were basic – all of them were young girls between the ages of nine and fourteen, and each had gone missing from her own neighborhood. Most of them were Hispanic, but Grace Manning was about as white as one could get.

Keith didn't have much to go on. Really, only the ages of the girls were similar, but something about it seemed so _familiar_ that he tried to concentrate, to focus his mind on the clue that just might break the case.

And then it hit him.

He'd had a similar case many, many years ago. Well, maybe it had been similar. It was so long ago that he couldn't be positive about the minutiae of the case, but there was a chance he still had some of the old case notes. They weren’t more than a few pages of nearly indecipherable scrawl, but he'd hung onto them after leaving Fresno, on the off-chance that he might later be able to use them. Lianne had tried, more than once, to throw them away, saying that they were nothing more than dust magnets that he'd never look at again and that he shouldn't hold on so tightly to his past.

Vindicated, Keith sped home, ran through to the front door, and pulled the tattered box out of the corner of his closet. He'd known he might need it, that eventually it would come in handy. And he'd been right.

Well, at least partially right.

The girls who had gone missing in Fresno had almost all been Caucasian. Kalie Wong was the only one who appeared to be any different.

The girls were about the same age and had disappeared in much the same way that the Neptune girls had. Unlike in Neptune, however, there had been no out-of-place vehicle noted in the girls' neighborhoods. However, the prime suspect at the time, Dina Clark, _had_ been seen in the areas before each disappearance.

They'd never learned what Dina's motive had been, as she'd been killed by an irate father before they could get her into custody. Keith couldn't extrapolate a possible reason as to why these girls were disappearing now, but if he could get copies of the case files from the Fresno Police Department, he might learn more.

Keith knew that Dina Clark couldn't be responsible for the Neptune crimes. After all, it was hardly possible for a ghost to make a half-dozen vibrant, _terrestrial_ girls disappear. However, it was definitely possible that a copycat had surfaced, or that someone with a similar motive was in Neptune now.

He dialed the number for his old precinct and swore to himself that this time, the person responsible would be forced to face a judgment handed down by his peers. Dina had only had to answer to one man, Henry O'Connor.

This bastard wouldn't get off so easily.

* * *

"Ben!" Veronica exclaimed as soon as Joey's younger brother came into sight. "Just the guy I was looking for."

"R-really?" he asked, surprised.

"Definitely. I'm trying to figure out who's been trying to hurt your brother, and the weird thing is that most of the stuff that's been happening probably wouldn't do anything to hurt any skater besides Joey," she explained. "I mean, what's the probability that someone would put _tomatoes_ in a batch of cookies to begin with, let alone that they'd be sent to someone like Joey who has a tomato allergy?"

"I, uh, I'm not very good at math," Ben replied. "Can we talk later? I told my mom that I'd get us some food."

"That's fine. We can walk and talk easily enough." She paused, matching her steps to his as they headed for the snack bar. "You see, Ben, the tomato thing isn't all that's bothering me. I mean, there aren't that many people that would be able to sprinkle extra glitter on your brother's costumes, are there?"

"I, uh, I dunno."

Rolling her eyes at his futile attempts to lose her, she finally placed a hand on his shoulder to stop his forward movement.

"Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his eyes darting every which way.

"I know that you ordered those flowers from Manny's Flower Hut yesterday, when you knew that your brother has a pollen allergy that’s exacerbated by daffodils. So it follows that you probably sprinkled glitter on your brother's costume before he left for that competition in Salem. And, of course, since you know what happens when he eats tomatoes, why wouldn't you want to do whatever possible to screw up the one thing that he's spent most of his life working towards?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," he insisted, brushing her hand off of his shoulder and trying to walk away.

"Oh, believe me, I do, Ben. And after I have a few words with Joey and your mom, they'll know all about how you tried to sabotage your big brother. The only thing I don't know is why you did it. Was it because your brother's famous and you're not? Do you wish that you were in the spotlight instead of him?"

"That's the problem!" Ben hissed, his latent lisp even more apparent now that she'd gotten him riled up. "Joey's so famous that all I ever am is the brother of that Olympic skater. Mom always brings me along to these stupid skating things without even asking if I _want_ to be here. Because I don't. I hate the stupid traveling, I hate this life, and I hate my brother!" 

Wow. That had been easier than expected. Of course, cracking twelve year-olds was hardly a job that needed the help of the CIA.

"Okay, Ben, you've got two options. Either you can tell your mom and Joey what you did, or I can. What's it going to be?"

"I'll tell them," he agreed reluctantly.

Spying Wallace out of the corner of her eye, Veronica gave him a steely look. "You’d better. I'll know if you don't." 

Her gaze followed Ben as he approached his mother, his expression making it clear that he'd rather be doing almost anything else in the world than telling her what he'd done. Confident that she'd intimidated him enough to get the results she wanted, Veronica turned back in the direction where she'd seen her best friend moments earlier, only to have him standing directly beside her.

“Nacho?” He held the food out as he continued to munch loudly.

"What are you doing here, Wallace? You don't even _like_ skating."

"Well, V, it's a funny story actually … "

Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and quirked an eyebrow. "Make me laugh, Wallace."

"I just stopped by to visit. You've been so wrapped up with this case, and I thought it'd be nice to, you know, see you for a minute. And it's been great. So, have fun, and I'll catch you later."

"You're a terrible liar," Veronica admonished, rolling her eyes. "Have I taught you nothing? Besides - "

Veronica winced as the sharp sound of feedback interrupted her tirade.

"Wallace? What was that?"

"Leonardo, do you copy? I’ve lost visual contact. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point. Repeat, do you copy?"

Grimacing, Wallace craned his neck towards _something_ on his chest. Was that a microphone clipped to his sweater?

"Was that Logan?" Veronica frowned.

"Leonardo, I need confirmation. Do you copy?"

"Uh, copy," Wallace spoke quietly into the mini-mic.

Veronica merely stared at him.

"This was all Logan’s idea!”

At the mention of his name, Logan stepped into the lobby, eyes widening in surprise at who was standing beside his partner in crime. 

“Hi, Logan,” Veronica greeted him brightly. "Care to explain to me why you and Wallace were playing sneak'n'creep around the rink today? Were you bored? Did the surf stop washing ashore?”

Logan said nothing. 

"I could have handled this one on my own, guys. This is probably the easiest case I've worked on all summer. I mean, a few ice skaters, an angst-ridden preteen - piece of cake."

"We weren’t here to help with the case,” Wallace clarified, making a point to stare at Logan.

“What?” He replied, defensive. “I just wanted to see if Veronica could get us back to meet some hot skater chicks.”

Looking at Logan strangely, Veronica stifled a giggle and decided not to press the issue. She didn't know why Logan elected to play PI for a day at the rink, and, honestly, since he didn't hurt her case at all, it wasn't _that_ important. She was just happy they'd made slow-but-steady progress in regaining their friendship since he’d returned from San Francisco. So, making a big deal out of this? Not really worth it.

"What?" Logan frowned at her. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. "It's just … Leonardo?” 

"Hey! The Ninja Turtle thing was Logan's idea! Having the code name of a turtle doesn't exactly play up my pimp status, you know?"

Veronica laughed. "So who was Logan?"

"Michelangelo," Logan supplied. "I mean, he _is_ a party dude."

Wallace rolled his eyes. "That's what Logan _wanted_. Since I was the one who had my life interrupted when he dragged my ass down here, his name was my call."

"And, what, you made him Donatello? Ooh, Wallace, you rebel," Veronica teased.

"No," Wallace said with a grin. "April."

"Being pretty is so fucking hard," Logan groused. "If I were half as hot as I actually am, you'd let me be Michelangelo."

"Boys," Veronica admonished. "The show's starting. Pay attention. Especially you, _April_."

* * *

Joey skated to center ice, and Veronica watched from where she stood rink-side. She'd wanted to be close to the ice, so that after his skate, she could finally bring this case to an official end.

When his routine started, her eyes were glued to his black-clad figure, and she watched as he landed a perfect triple axel. His next jump wasn't as clean though, and Veronica flinched when he stepped out of it. Joey, unfazed by the minor flaw in his otherwise perfect skate, continued on, maintaining the playful and engaging show Veronica had seen him skate throughout the week. The audience around her was speechless, and when Joey's long, smooth strides came to a stop, he was showered with applause. Veronica knew that he'd done exactly what he set out to do and that he'd be pleased with his performance. 

He glided to stop at the edge of the ice and walked towards Veronica with a wide smile on his face, having been showered with applause and gifts after his impressive routine.

"How'd I do, coach?"

"You did great. Congratulations." Veronica smiled, trying to find the best way to verify that his brother had done as she'd demanded. "So Ben … "

"Yeah." Joey let out a low whistle. "I never would have guessed he was capable of that sort of thing. I mean, he's my _brother_ , you know?"

Veronica couldn't help but feel sorry for Joey. Despite all his naïveté and overly persistent flirtation, he wasn't a bad guy. Clearly, having his brother work against him like this had hit him hard. She was surprised that he'd been able to skate so well, knowing what he did about Ben.

"He said that he'd hoped that if I kept messing up, I'd just give it all up and go back to living a boring life in Illinois, even after everything I've given up to move here to be near my coaches. I mean, _this_ is what I want to do with my life. No matter what happens, I can't give it up. So, thanks, Veronica," he said, motioning for her to follow him into the bowels of the rink.

Finding his duffel bag, he withdrew a check and filled it out. Noticing Veronica's eyes widen, he shook his head. "You've earned every penny. I don't know how to thank you, Veronica."

"I was just doing my job, Joey."

"Still." Joey fumbled awkwardly with his pen. "My family and the Sinclairs are going to head out to dinner, now that the show's over. You want to join us? My treat. It's the least I can do."

To most girls, Joey was a catch. He was cute, and nice, and obviously appreciative of her. But there was no spark between them. It seemed the more time she spent with Joey, the more convinced she was that she belonged with someone else.

"Look, Joey, I appreciate the offer, but I can't go out with you.” Or spend an entire evening being civil to Madison, but she figured he didn’t need to know that.

"Okay," he nodded, strangely accepting. "It was nice working with you, Veronica."

"Likewise," she agreed, waving as the Evans clan walked out of the otherwise empty area and out of her life. 

Leaning back against the wall, she slid to the floor, enjoying the relative peace and quiet after spending the past hour in the midst of the raucous crowd while she waited for Joey to skate.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was her father. Hoping that he had good news about Grace, she answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, sweetie. I just wanted to let you know that I'm heading up to Fresno to look into some things. I'll be back in a few days, okay?"

"Okay, Dad," she agreed tentatively. "Is this about Grace?"

"It might be. Give me a call if you need me," he instructed. "And … be careful. I've gotta run."

"I always do," she said, noticing the incredibly vague way that he answered her question about Grace. Interesting. Given the fact that he didn't want her involved in the case and that he had just been to Fresno a few weeks prior, she was willing to bet that this trip was motivated completely by Grace’s disappearance.

She hung up and considered her options. She could stay at the rink for awhile and watch the rest of the exhibition. Or, she could just head home, the freshly signed check evidence that she was done with everything having to do with ice skating. Or she could do something _fun_ and try to reclaim a little bit of the Veronica Mars that she used to be before everything changed.

Decision made, she headed back up to the stands, hoping that Wallace and Logan were still be at the rink. Suggesting that they go and do something fun was so much easier than calling them and trying to plan something.

Luckily, when she returned to their seats, they were still there.

"Ready to go?" she greeted them, noting with a smirk that they both flinched in response.

"Your friend," Logan paused on the word, "skated well."

"Oh. Thanks." Veronica quickly looked down and, steeling herself for an easy dismissal, asked, "Do you guys have any plans for tonight?"

"Who? Me?" Logan looked over his shoulder comically before turning back to face Veronica while Wallace stifled his laughter. "I'm sorry, were you talking to someone else?"

Veronica smacked him playfully on the arm. "Look, after being around here all week, and living off of rink concessions, I’m starving. Want to go grab something to eat?”

"What, you wouldn't rather ask Jo - "

Veronica's face fell. She'd half-expected Logan to overreact about the whole Joey _thing_ , and - 

"Yeah," he amended quickly.

She blinked, a stupefied expression on her face. "What?"

"Dinner. I mean, I know the Mission Impossible clothes aren't ideal for fine dining, but what the hell. I look good in black. Sounds like a plan."

"Oh. Okay." Veronica found herself nodding with growing enthusiasm. "Great. What about you Wallace?" 

"I'm in."

"Let me just run over and grab a soda." Logan motioned to the concession stand. "Watching a bunch of dudes run around in spandex really made me thirsty. Freud would have a field day with that one, but I'm just going with it." 

"Probably better that way," she agreed. "While you're over there, could you grab me a lemonade?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Fine. Although the spandex excuse doesn't work for you, for the record." 

Laughing, Veronica shoved him playfully. "Hurry up. If we don't leave soon, it’s hot dogs and nachos all the way.

"Already gone," he replied over his shoulder as he darted down the bleachers.

"So you and Echolls are going out?" Wallace asked the second Logan was out of earshot. "Where did that idea come from?"

"It's just a group of friends getting some food, Wallace. Nothing life-altering."

They weren't getting back together. Besides, even if she wanted to, Logan didn't want to be with her anymore. And she'd get over him. Eventually. 

"Is that the only reason you asked me?" Wallace asked, looking more curious than hurt.

Veronica sighed. She knew that she and Logan were just friends and that this dinner wouldn't be any different from when he'd brought pizza by the office earlier that week, but she didn't want Wallace thinking that she _only_ wanted him to come along so that it wouldn't be only her and Logan. How could she explain this?

"It's fine.” Wallace bailed her out. “Can my girl come too? She’s supposed to meet me here soon, anyway."

"You have a girlfriend?" Veronica was more than a little surprised at this revelation. How had she not known that her best friend had a girlfriend? Maybe Logan had had a point when he said that she'd been neglecting her friends in favor of her cases.

"That despicable, am I?" Wallace joked. "And, she isn't really my girlfriend, but maybe - "

"Maybe I'm right behind you," a petite redhead spoke up, approaching Wallace.

"Veronica Mars, this is Alanna Morgan."

"Great to meet you," Veronica replied smoothly.

Veronica wanted to interrogate this girl, make sure that she was deserving of her best friend, especially after what had happened with Jackie, but she knew that this wasn't the time or place for that. Of course, given the mess that was her own love life, interfering with Wallace's apparent happiness probably wasn’t the best idea.

They'd go out tonight, the four of them, and they'd have a good time. She'd make sure of it. She'd be the easy-going and fun-loving Veronica Mars that she didn't let out very often. She wouldn't interfere with Wallace's new girl, and she wouldn't try to make things with Logan any worse than they already were.

Tonight, things would be different. She'd let loose and hopefully feel freer than she had in a long time.

Whether that happened tomorrow, however, was anyone’s guess.

* * *

Keith started the ignition, having been forced to take the five hour trek up to Fresno by Sergeant Jimmy Collins. Jimmy had refused to fax him the case notes, unwilling to even use the department's encrypted fax. He'd also refused to go over any case details over the phone.

So, Keith was going back to Fresno for the second time in a month. He only wished he'd made the tenuous connection between the disappearances of young girls in both cities, decades apart, when he'd visited a few weeks prior.

Shortly after pulling onto the freeway, a breaking news bulletin came over the radio.

"The parents of nine year old Grace Manning can sleep soundly tonight. Their daughter was found earlier today. Unconfirmed reports from Neptune Hospital indicate that the young girl ran away from home Tuesday afternoon. She is currently being treated for dehydration, but sources say that she should be going home tomorrow. Sheriff Don Lamb, asked to comment on how he found the girl, said – "

Not wanting to hear Lamb talk about how the department had worked so hard to find Grace Manning while at least four other girls were still missing, Keith flipped the radio off and considered heading back home.

He realized, though, that if he turned around, pacified now that Grace had been found, he would be just as bad as Lamb, dismissing the other missing girls. Veronica might have asked him only to recover the youngest Manning, but now Keith felt a responsibility to find the other girls.

So he continued down the open road, his eyes on the horizon. He had a way to go yet, and he was just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's authors also add: _Just a few closing notes:_  
>  Joey Evans was modeled after [Evan Lysacek](http://sarah-and-lizzy.livejournal.com/1305.html), although the characterization is a bit different from how we imagine Evan being. After all, this isn't meant to be RPF, you know?
> 
>  
> 
> _Also, cookies to anyone who can spot the Jensen Ackles shout out. :)_


	16. Thanks for the Memoir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith discovers the past is rarely dead. Veronica delves into the secrets of the publishing world to help a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [mastermia](http://mastermia.livejournal.com/) and [rindee](http://rindee.livejournal.com/)  
> Their notes: _A huge special thanks to herowlness who rocked her beta, even though it was the day before her birthday. You are awesome and happy birthday!_  
>  Also, thanks to truemyth and kantayra for their comments.  
> Rindee and mastermia want to thank each other because we are just like that.
> 
> This chapter was originally posted in two parts due to LiveJournal posting limits, which means it is nice and long!

“Veronica, this was a good choice,” Mac said looking around the restaurant where they had just finished lunch.

“Yes, it was. These trendy beach front places are sometimes better than you expect.” But instead of looking at the ambiance, Veronica was looking at her friend, satisfied with what she saw. A few months ago, Mac had been so angry she’d harassed Madison and risked being arrested; now, Mac seemed happier and more at peace. The brittle quality that had so worried Veronica had faded, and during their weekly lunches, she'd seen things slowly returning to normal.

As if reading her mind, Mac said, “I’m so glad we’ve been doing this.” She reached for the check sitting on the edge of the table.

“So am I,” Veronica said, whisking the bill away just before Mac could grab it.

“Veronica, it’s my turn,” Mac said, trying to take the paper from Veronica’s grasp and laughing as Veronica held it out of reach.

“I just came into some very easy money, so we’ll consider this meal as paid for by a kind benefactor. You can get the next one.” At Mac’s nod, she continued. “Speaking of money, how’s the job going?”

Mac rolled her eyes, but to Veronica’s relief, it seemed good natured. “Well, the 09er crowd started hanging out at Hungry Bill’s, so that’s good, but if I never see ice cream again, it will be too soon.” Mac smiled. “It’s done wonders for my biceps, though. Wanna see?” She pulled her sleeve up and made a muscle, her face frozen in exaggerated effort.

“Am I disturbing something?” a masculine voice asked from over Veronica’s shoulder. Mac, looking up, went beet red and dropped her arm. Veronica turned to see Casey Gant standing casually behind her, hand on the back of her chair.

Laughing, Veronica said, “Of course not, Casey. Mac was just showing off the results of her ice cream workout.” Mac shot Veronica a pained look as Casey smiled.

“Well, I was impressed. All ice cream ever did for me was make me feel guilty. I had no idea it could actually tone as well.” If possible, Mac turned even redder. Veronica felt a little guilty for embarrassing her when 09ers, as a rule, were not her favorite people.

“How are you Casey? I saw that the press is very excited about you landing Gordon West’s autobiography. All that ink must be exciting.”

Casey looked pained. “Well, it was exciting, but lately items that seem to be from the manuscript have been leaked, and now he’s threatening to pull the book.”

“Can he do that?” Veronica asked.

“Yes, everyone in Hollywood is clamoring to see what he’ll say, so one of the conditions of his contract was complete discretion until the book is published. He is negotiating a multi-year contract at the studio and is afraid if anything gets out, it will be in jeopardy. If I can’t stop the leak, my first coup will quickly turn to crap.”

“What makes you think the leak is coming from inside your publishing house?” Mac asked, looking seriously at Casey. 

Casey smiled sadly. “I hate to think it’s one of our people, but West swears no one else has the information. In the last article, the reporter claimed to have proof West didn’t actually write the episode he won the Emmy for, so it certainly isn’t coming from him.”

“What do your parents say?” Veronica said gingerly, knowing it could be a sore subject.

Shaking his head, Casey replied, “They’re still in Europe, so they expect me to resolve the situation. This was supposed to be my big introduction to the publishing world. Everyone wanted this book and, thanks to Conner, I got the inside track. If we lose it, I will never be taken seriously again. It’s hard enough being 20 and the son of the founder. If I'm the one who lost Gordon West, I might as well find another profession.”

“Gee,” Veronica said sardonically. “It sounds like you need an investigator. Too bad we don’t know any.” She placed her head on her hand and pretended to ponder. Mac laughed, while managing to still look sympathetic.

Casey looked at Veronica earnestly. “Yes, it _is_ too bad.” He looked at Mac. “Can you think of anyone who might be able to help me?”

In the spirit of the game, Mac replied. “Well, I do know this girl who’s able to help in situations like this, but she’s awfully busy these days.”

Casey looked at the empty plates littering the table, and the waves crashing outside the window. “Obviously. She seems really slammed.”

“You’ve convinced me, I’ll take the case.” Veronica dropped her hand and looked at him seriously. “Casey, I would be happy to do what I can. Do you have any suspects?”

“Well, I know, generally, what was in the manuscript, but haven’t read it. Apparently Gordon was high when he met with a studio exec. He swears no one knew but him, and yet there was an article last week that mentioned the incident directly.”

“Who _has_ actually read it?”

“As far as I know, the VP of non-fiction, Simon Foster, and Gordon’s editor, Madeline O'Rourke. But both have been with the company for years, and I don’t know what they’d have to gain. Last year’s suicide of the star of Suzy’s Zoo, combined with his affair with her gives us built-in publicity. He was going to reveal everything that happened behind the scenes. It's hard to believe something that was a dream come true has turned into such an unbelievable nightmare.”

“Fixing nightmares is what Veronica does best,” Mac said earnestly.

Veronica smiled. “Well, I usually have very good help. Where would Bond be without her Q?” 

“Well then, I leave myself in very competent hands. I was lucky to run into you guys today.”

Veronica noted that, even though his hand was still on the back of her chair, Casey’s eyes were on Mac, and this time Mac’s blush was one of pleasure. 

“You can count on us.” Veronica promised.

* * *

Veronica paced anxiously, trying to find the right words. For the second time in a week, she was going to have to ask her father for help, and it annoyed her. Bugged her. Was akin to Chinese water torture. She knew he still had secrets, was keeping things from her, but she had no choice, he was the only person she knew who’d ever written a book. 

“Dad.”

“Veronica. How are you, honey?”

“I’m fine, Dad. Where are you?”

“Fresno, honey. I told you yesterday.”

“I know, but, I mean, you were just there. Why did you have to go back?”

“Veronica.” Keith sighed heavily. “I need to see a guy who might have some information on a case.” 

“But who, Dad? And what case?”

“Veronica. I’ll explain when I see you. Did you call me for a reason, or just to practice you’re interrogation techniques?”

Aggravated, but aware she could push her father only so far, Veronica took a deep breath. “Dad, Casey Gant asked me to check into some leaks at Gant Publishing. Problem is, I’m not sure how to proceed, exactly. I’m not that up on the publishing game. Any thoughts?”

“Yeah, look, you can never go wrong following the money. If someone on Casey’s staff has just come into a small fortune, you’d have to wonder why. Do the leaks concern the type of information the tabs would pay for?”

“Um, I think so. It’s behind the scenes information that the tabloids would be interested in, I’m sure of that. Whether they’d pay for it – all I can say is, Casey seems to think so.”

“Okay, honey. Then follow the money,” Keith repeated distractedly.

“Dad!”

“Yes, Veronica?” The weariness in his voice surprised her. Keith Mars usually took care to be attentive, but it had been a while since he’d really listened to her. “Did you need something else?”

“Yeah. Dad, do you have any contacts in the industry? Someone who could maybe point me in the right direction, or who knows some of the editors at Gant?”

“Yeah, honey. My book editor, Vera. Vera Drake. Her number’s in my book, on my desk. Are you at the office?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Okay, get her number, give her a call. Tell her you’re my daughter. I’m sure she’ll have a few minutes to chat. Anything else, Veronica?”

“Ah.... No, Dad. That’s it. Thanks.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll see you at home, probably tomorrow.”

“Okay, Dad. And – Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful, okay, Dad?”

“I will, honey. You too. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Right, Dad.” You too, she thought, hanging up.

* * *

“Hi. Vera Drake, please.”

“One moment, may I tell her who’s calling?”

“This is Veronica Mars. My father, Keith – ”

“ – Just a minute, Ms. Mars.” Expecting a lengthy wait, Veronica prepared for the annoying hold music, but to her surprise, she was put right through. 

“Veronica, dear. How nice of you to call. How’s your father, darling?”

“Um, Dad? He’s fine, up in Fresno on a – ” 

“Wonderful, wonderful. Veronica, dear – I know we’ve never met, but I feel like I know you from your father’s constant bragging – I’ve been meaning to call you for weeks, so it just seems like divine providence that _you’ve_ called _me_ today. Veronica, have you ever considered writing a book of your own, maybe something about your investigation of your former boyfriend’s family, and of course, your search for your current boyfriend’s sadly departed mother? And we can’t forget the awful way Aaron Echolls treated you, before and at the trial.”

“Um, no, actually. I’ve never even considered it. I was calling because –” Veronica didn’t bother trying to correct Ms. Drake’s erroneous information about her love life, or lack there of; she was lucky to get a word in. 

“– No? You’ve never even thought about it? I think it could be an inspiring and thrilling tale, and it has best-seller written all over it.”

“Really? Huh. Gee, that’s nice. No,” Veronica gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. “I was calling because my father suggested you might be able to help –”

“Really? Keith suggested you call? That’s so good of him. So _he_ thinks you should write a best –” 

“No. No. Actually, he told me you’d be able to give me some background information on the publishing world; it’s for the case we’re working.” She rushed through it in one breath, desperate to say something before Ms. Drake began talking again. 

“Oh. Oh! For a case? Of course. I’d love to help you, Veronica. Can you tell me anything about it, the case, I mean?” Drake’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. 

“Um, not really. Do you know anything about any of the editors or corporate officers at Gant Publishing?” 

“Certainly, Veronica. I used to work there, but I’m sure Keith told you that.”

“No, um, he didn’t,” she choked out, unsure what sickened her more - Vera Drake fawning all over her father, or the ass-kissing _she_ was receiving from Ms. Drake.

“Okay, well, please keep this to yourself, dear, but Simon Foster, the VP in charge of biographies, is simply biding his time. He has children in private school and is always looking for ways to boost his income. Of course, we all need more money, don’t we, Veronica. If you’d just consider –”

“No, really, thanks for the offer, but -” _I’d rather die,_ she thought. “I’m happy being a college student and helping my dad. What about editors, do you know any of them?”

“I only know one well, Madeline O’Rourke. She’s tough, but good. I certainly never had any problems with her, or Simon Foster, for that matter. Tell me, Veronica, about your boyfriend, Logan, is he –”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Drake. That’s my new college roommate on the other line. I’m afraid I have to take the call, but thanks so much for all your help, really,” she added obsequiously, breathing deeply so as not to scream. 

“Oh, Veronica. You’re welcome, darling. Call me any time. Maybe we can do lunch.”

“Uh, gee, um, yeah, maybe,” Veronica said, bright and insincere. “Thanks, Ms. Drake. Gotta go, um, bye.” She hung up the phone with a sigh of relief.

* * *

“OK, Q, time to violate some federal privacy laws.”

“What do you need Mr. Bond?” Mac’s tone was playful, and through her cell, Veronica could hear the ping of Mac’s laptop turning on.

“I was thinking financial information.”

“Oh, goody. It’s been ages since I was looking at hard time in Club Fed.” Mac said dryly.

“Nothing that’ll put you in the big house, just some easy white-collar time for us! I need bank records, and you’re just the person to get them for me.”

“What makes you think I can get bank records?”

“Well, you are Sin – the caped crusader – saving the world with just her computer and a smile.”

“Veronica, when are you going to let that go?” Mac asked sternly, but Veronica could hear laughter bubbling beneath her words.

“My current plan is never, but I’ll let you know if it changes.”

With a sigh, Mac replied, “Great. Give me the names and I’ll see what I can do. But I’m leaving the cape and the thigh high boots at home today, so you’ll have to take what you get.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Veronica’s responded enthusiastically. “I’ll e-mail you the names.”

“It’s so terrible. Casey’s career could be over before it even begins. Anything I can do to help, I will,” Mac said earnestly.

“I’m sure he appreciates your enthusiasm.” Veronica’s tone was light. “He’s a really nice guy.” Veronica paused, waiting for Mac’s reply. She was slightly disappointed by her response.

“Well, send over the names and I’ll see what I and my super powers can do.”

“Will do, Q.”

* * *

Keith rifled through his notes one last time before trudging into the Fresno County jail. At the control room, he gave them his driver’s license and flashed his PI license, surrendered his firearm to the female deputy behind the Plexiglas, and received a bright orange Professional - Visitor badge to clip on his collar. Next, he stood in front of the stereotypic barred door. When he heard the electronic solenoid buzz, followed by the lurching clang and grind of the metal gate, he waited another thirty seconds. After the heavy door slid half open, he stepped into the small entry-way, trying not to flinch as the door reversed direction and clanked shut behind. He paused until he was buzzed through the second metal door, and, once inside the “business” side of the jail, followed the green painted path to Unit D, where Henry O’Connor was housed. 

No matter what time of year, the old jail was dank and damp. Must be the low ceilings and cinderblock construction, Keith thought as he walked down the endless hallway, past Units A, B, C, the Dispensary, and the drug counselor’s office. Curious inmates, wearing dark blue, in-house jump suits, shuffled by in thick white socks and rubber slip-on shower shoes. Finally, he turned to meet the doors of Unit D. He punched the intercom: “Keith Mars to see Henry O’Connor. I’m a private investigator.” Again, he waited for the inevitable clang and buzz of two sets of doors, until, at last, he was actually in Unit D. 

Stopping, as required, at the guard station, he again displayed his PI license and visitor’s pass. The wizened guard carefully noted his name and asked who he wanted to see. Patiently, Keith told the man he wanted to see Henry O’Connor and gave O’Connor’s booking number. 

“You can wait in that room,” the guard said, indicating a minuscule, windowless interview room about ten feet behind the guard station. Keith nodded and a strapping young deputy hefted a ring of keys and unlocked the door. As he entered, Keith could hear the older man announce, on the intercom: “Bring Henry O’Connor. He has a pro visit. Henry O’Connor for a pro.”

Taking out a pen and small spiral notepad, Keith sat at the scarred, card-table-sized formica table. He didn’t bother to look at the drab gray walls - all county jails looked the same from the inside. Drumming his fingers, he waited, and waited, and waited. After seventeen minutes, Henry scuffled in, looking forty years older than he had the last time Keith saw him, nineteen years ago. 

Awkwardly easing his bloated body into the tiny plastic chair, Henry simply stared, uncomprehendingly, at Keith Mars. “Hiya, Henry,” he began kindly. “Remember me?” Bewildered, Henry shook his head. “Officer Mars? My partner, Frank Romano, and I investigated the kidnapping of your daughter, Leah.”

Henry blinked his rheumy eyes, revealing the smallest spark of understanding. “You must remember, Frank, Henry,” Keith coached, determined to get through to O’Conner. Henry barely nodded, but it was enough to let Keith to continue. He reminded Henry of his and Frank’s frantic investigation, the tense, constant search for Leah’s kidnappers, their identification of top suspect Dina Clark, and the night Henry and Frank apparently committed a crime. Together. 

“Henry, do you remember getting an address from Frank; an address for the woman we thought nabbed Leah?” Henry bobbed his head vigorously. _That_ he remembered. “And do you remember, the day before the night you went to the house where Dina Clark was living …”

Henry was able to confirm the sequence of events up to his arrival at Dina’s, but when Keith began asking about Dina Clark’s murder, Henry clammed up and refused to volunteer any further information. 

Clearly frustrated, Keith backed up and tried a different tack. “Henry. They told me you’ve spent more time **in** jail, in the last 15 years, than you’ve spent **outside**. I know it must have been hard for you, after you lost Leah …” 

Even back then, Keith had found it ironic that Leah’s kidnapping had affected Henry so much. According to his notes, Henry hadn’t been a model father; often drunk, Henry had rarely come home to ensure his daughter had food or proper clothing or did her homework. In fact, Keith mused, if the O’Conner family had lived in northern California, or Chicago, or Michigan, Leah would have probably frozen to death in her room because, often, the O’Connors had no electricity or running water. But somewhere deep inside his corroded brain, Henry must have loved her a little, or he wouldn’t have shot Dina Clark. 

“Okay, Henry, one more time. What did Frank tell you, the day Dina Clark died?”

“She . . . she died?” Henry asked, confused.

“I don’t know, Henry. I wasn’t there. But you shot her, didn’t you?”

“They never proved nothin’.”

“Henry. I want to know if Frank told you anything else, maybe about an accomplice Dina might have had back then. Think, Henry. Did he?”

“No. Frank didn’t tell - just an address.”

“He gave you her address? He didn’t tell you anything else?”

“No. I keep tellin’ you. He gave me an address, said it was where my Leah’s kidnapper was gonna be.”

“Okay, Henry,” Keith coaxed. “What happened then?” Glaring suspiciously, Henry shook his head. “Listen, Henry. I’m not a cop any more. I don’t have to tell anyone what you tell me. But, Henry, little girls are going missing again, just like before. Just like it was here. Only now, it’s in my town - Neptune. And I need to find out who’s behind it. Think, Henry. Was there anything else? Did Frank tell you anything else about Dina?”

“Dina? You want to know about Dina?”

“Yes, Henry,” Keith sighed deeply and considered bashing in his own head. “I want to know about Dina. Frank told you she would be there, right?”

“Yeah. At the house.”

“And?”

“And I went there, with Frank.”

“Wait. You went there _with_ Frank?”

“Yeah. We drove over. Frank . . . he kicked the door in - _bang_!”

“And was she, was Dina there?”

“Yeah. We surprised her, but she hadda gun.”

“Okay. Good, Henry. You and Frank went in. She had a gun. Did you have a gun, Henry? 

“Uh huh. We both did.”

“Right, you and Dina both had guns. What happened next? Did you shoot her, Henry?”

“No, uh, we both had guns. Me and Frank. We had guns.”

“Okay,” Keith paused, rolling the information around in his head, trying to digest it. “Okay, you and Frank, and Dina, had guns. What happened next? Did Frank try to talk to her?”

“Uh … I think.”

“Okay. Now, Henry, I want you to really think, try to remember. Did Dina say anything about working with someone else?”

“No.”

“No?” That’s the end of that, Keith thought. “What happened next?”

“She tried to shoot Frank.”

Startled, Keith focused more intently. “Dina shot at Frank? She didn’t hit him, though?” 

“No, but Frank tripped. Yeah, he fell.”

“What happened then?”

“Shots, lots of shots.”

“Who shot who, Henry?” Keith’s voice rose. “Who shot?”

“I dunno.” Henry shrugged, his chest heaving strangely. “We all did, I think.”

“You all shot. What next?”

“She was on the floor, bleeding,” Henry whispered. “Blood everywhere. I ran. I think Frank was with me.” As he finished his sentence, Henry started wheezing. The wheezing turned into a deep, rattling cough, and, suddenly, Henry was gasping for air. Keith got up and started for the door, but Henry stopped him, clutching at his jacket. “Wait. It’s … it’s nothing. … Allergic to … disinfectant.” 

Keith waited, unsure whether or not Henry needed help. Within a minute or two, Henry got his breathing under control. As he wiped his runny eyes, Henry held up a finger. “‘S’okay. I’m … okay. I got a, a whaddya call it … inhaler in my cell.”

“I’m sorry, Henry.” Keith frowned, still standing. “I didn’t know you were sick.”

“It’s . . . nothin’ new. Had it a long time,” he gasped, still breathless. 

“Henry, listen, I’m sorry. I just have one more question. You don’t actually know whether you or Frank Romano who shot Dina?” Speechless, Henry shook his head. “Okay, Henry. Thanks.” Keith grasped Henry’s mottled hand and shook it gently. “I’ll be seeing ya, Henry.” 

Keith pounded on the locked door. When the guard appeared, Keith waved to be let out. On his way past the guard station, he stopped to let them know about Henry’s coughing fit and ask why Henry was in jail this time. The guard didn’t know, but buzzed Keith back through to the main hallway. Five minutes later, having retrieved his license and gun, Keith trotted gratefully out of the building and into the late afternoon sunshine.

* * *

A few hours after her call, Veronica was looking at the bank records Mac had uncovered. It seemed Keith’s editor had been right – Foster was leveraged to his eyeballs. Between his wife’s hemorrhaging money, and their kids’ private school tuition, they seemed to owe all over town. While Foster had lots of money going out, it was Ms. O’Rourke who had the dollars coming in. A significant amount, actually. The previous week, there had been a deposit of two-hundred and fifty _thousand_ dollars that looked very interesting. Unfortunately, Mac had been unable to trace the source of the money. Since it appeared either one could be the leak, Veronica needed a plan. 

As she mulled her options, she scanned the rest of the information on Gordon West. He appeared to be in the middle of a legal battle; his production company partner was suing him. Presumably, the partner was afraid of something West was going to reveal in the memoir, because the lawsuit was filed the day after the press announcement that he had signed with Gant Publishing. However, the details of the case were sealed.

Veronica ran a standard background check on the partner, Sharon Tweed, and compared her findings with the information Casey sent. Apparently Mr. West and Ms. Tweed had been living together when he worked on the show. An interesting wrinkle, especially since West had also been sleeping with Suzy Majors, the star of the show he was writing and producing. Keith was right – follow the money. But scorned women trumped money as a motive, so she realized that she needed more information on Ms. Tweed and her court case.

As she was composing an e-mail to Casey, she ruminated on how love could turn bad and so often did. That, of course, brought Logan to mind; he was never far from her thoughts anyway..

On the surface, things between them had been okay lately, but she wanted to convince him to give her, them another chance. They hadn’t spent much time together since he’d returned from Napa, and she needed a reason to talk to him. Looking at her monitor, she smiled and reached for the phone.

“Hey, Logan. I have a proposition for you.”

“Does it involve ice skating, because, if it does, the answer is ‘no.’”

“It’s just a small favor,” she baited, knowing it wasn’t such a ‘small’ favor. “But you’d have to work with _me_ this time, instead of Wallace.”

“Tell me more, Mars,” he commanded with a tinge of excitement. 

“Well,” she took a deep breath. “I need you to go undercover – ”

“ – Under the covers, with you?” Logan’s voice dropped an octave and deepened. “Hmm. What would I have to do under the covers, Veronica?” he teased, his light tone belied by the warm huskiness of his voice. 

“Logan! Focus.” He could almost hear the snap of her fingers. “Have you ever thought about prostituting your –”

“Have I ever thought about being a gigolo? Veronica. What kind of a question is that?”

She gritted her teeth. It was hard enough to pretend to be _just friends_ with Logan, but his endless innuendo was making it almost impossible, even if she had deliberately provoked him. “Logan,” she hissed. “I want you to pretend you’re going to write about your scandalous life with Lilly and your – with Aaron.”

“What? Why would I want to do that, Mars?” His voice was still deep, but now it was also ice cold.

“Listen, Logan. We both know you’d never actually pimp out your life story, but do you think you could pretend to be thinking about it? I’ve – we’ve been hired to investigate some leaks at a well-known local publishing company, and I need to find out who is leaking the protected information, so I thought, if _you_ went in pretending to be ready to write, you know, a juicy, salacious tell-all, they’d fall all over themselves trying to sign you – and you could drop some interesting, secret tidbit to entice them and see if the info gets leaked.”

The sudden silence at the other end of the line was deafening. “Logan? Are you still – ”

“So,” he began, his tone measured and clipped. “You do want me to prostitute my life for you – for the sake of a case? I can’t believe _you_ , Veronica,” Logan’s voice was choked and furious. “You, of all people, would ask me to –”

“Logan. Logan!” she hastily interjected, hoping to stop him before he boiled over and ripped her a new one. “I don’t want you to tell them anything real. I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Logan,” she added softly. 

“Then what _do_ you want, Veronica?” he questioned angrily. 

“We’ll make something up. Something that’s not true, something utterly ridiculous. That way, if it does leak to the press, we can squash it quickly, but, hopefully, we’ll know who the leak is before anything like that can happen.” Veronica paused to see if he was listening. “Logan, I hope you know, no matter what has happened between us, I would never ask you to do anything ....”

A heavy sigh in her ear told her he understood. “Okay,” he replied somewhat meekly. “Okay, I think I can do that.”

Now it was Logan’s turn to listen as Veronica exhaled gratefully. “Thank you, Logan. I, I appreciate it. I think you should take someone with you though.”

“I thought you and I were going to . . . do it together?” 

Veronica winced, suddenly glad he couldn’t see her. She had said they’d be working together. “Um, yeah, but I can’t go into the publishing house because they know my face.”

“How do they know you?”

“Um, because it’s Casey Gant’s family’s business, and I was there with him once, junior year.” 

“Wait – this is about Casey. You want me to help Casey?”

“No. I want you to help me. Casey’s just a client, Logan. Besides, I think he might be interested in Mac. I want you to take Cliff McCormack as your lawyer and financial advisor. I haven’t talked to Cliff yet, but I’m sure he’ll agree to help; I think he still owes me one.”

“Veronica,” he growled dangerously, feeling betrayed. 

“No, honestly, Logan. I haven’t even seen Casey for – what do you care, anyway? We’re not together any more, remember?” 

“Alright, Veronica. Have it your way . . . you always seem to,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll help. Have Cliff get in touch with me, okay?”

“Fine. Great. Ah, Logan? Keep me in the loop, okay?”

“Yeah, right. Whatever.”

* * *

Veronica had e-mailed her request to Casey, so she was surprised to see his number on her caller ID.

“Casey, what can I do for you?”

“It seems like it’s more about what I can do for you. You really persuaded Logan to pretend to write a memoir?” He seemed impressed.

“Yes, if that isn’t going to cause any problems for you, we thought we could give both suspects some juicy information, each one unique, and see which story leaks.” 

“Sounds convoluted, there isn’t anything else we can do?”

“Well, no, unless you want to ask them point blank. The financial records Mac was able to get are suspicious, but don’t point conclusively to either.”

“Mac was able to get financial records? Wow.” If anything he seemed more impressed by Mac than by Logan’s participation.

“She’s a regular superhero,” Veronica said ironically.

Casey’s laughed. “I’ll arrange things for Logan, so I guess I’ll be seeing him soon. Will Mac need a cover story as well?”

“No, I have someone else in mind to help Logan sell his story,” Veronica said, trying to sound official.

“That’s too bad.” She noticed he sounded disappointed, and smiled to herself.

“Did you find anything on Sharon Tweed?”

“Actually, I didn’t, but Conner did some nosing around for me. She claims she helped write several of the award winning episodes of Suzy’s Zoo and now wants her name added to the writing credit, forcing him to share the Emmy. Also, apparently, she didn’t know about his affair with Suzy, and now she’s claiming emotional pain and suffering too.”

“Well, she _was_ living with him, and he could have taken his work home. Does she have any proof?”

“That’s what I couldn’t find out. Strangely enough, Gordon isn’t talking. However, I’m sure the memoir would be a great place for him to tell his side of the story.”

“That must have pissed her off. Once everyone reads his version of events, it will be that much harder to prove her side.”

“Probably,” he said. “But how do we prove it’s her?”

“We’ll rule out your employees and see where it leaves us. How much is the suit worth?”

“Twenty million.”

“Sounds like she’s got quite a few motives.” Veronica pondered for a moment, then changed the subject. “Let me tell you what I need,” she finished before laying out her plan.

* * *

“Our friend Mr. Navarro would like to know what progress you’ve made on Rosa’s kidnapping.” Cliff’s voice was smooth as honey and just as cloying.

“Not a lot.” Veronica thought about her frustrating conversation with her father. She knew that, with Grace Manning missing, giving her notes to him had been the right thing – every minute Grace was gone increased the possibility she was never coming home. But now that Grace was home, Keith had disappeared to Fresno and was refusing to tell her why, even though her gut knew the two incidents had to be related. 

“You realize he doesn’t have a lot to occupy his time, right? His new favorite pastime is calling his lawyer. It would be nice to have something to tell him.”

“I know. Tell him I’m working on it.” 

‘I’ll tell him to call you. You can tell him.”

“Fine,” she said tightly. She made a conscious effort to lighten her tone. “By the way, how is Mrs. Wixom?”

There was a second’s pause. “Veronica, you are about as subtle as a freight train. What do you want?”

“Actually, Logan needs a lawyer.”

“I haven’t looked at the paper yet this morning, what did he do? Several state shooting spree? Rob a bank?”

“Very funny. He decided to write his memoirs.”

“How very Augusten Burroughs of him. And that concerns me how?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” she said.

* * *

Too exhausted to face the drive back to Neptune, Keith got a room for the night. After grabbing a quick pizza and glass of wine at Santoro’s, a local place he remembered fondly, he lugged his file-laden brief case into the motel and spread everything out on the queen-sized bed. Something about O’Conner’s story didn’t feel right. On paper, the Neptune kidnappings mirrored Leah O’Conner’s; but was there really a connection, an accomplice Keith and Frank never knew about, or was it merely a coincidence? If Frank was dirty – and, based on Felicity and Lianne’s stories, it was evident he had been – had he actually been involved in Dina Clark’s kidnapping scheme? No – it wasn’t possible. And it didn’t make sense. If Frank had something on Dina, why he would have shot her? 

Henry had said neither Dina or Frank ever mentioned a partner, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t had one. Of course, Henry’s memory clearly wasn’t what it once was, and there was no telling if his version of events was true. But if Dina had been working with someone else, there is no way for the unknown accomplice to suspect that Frank or Keith was even aware of his/her existence, unless Frank had been in on the kidnapping from the very start. And there was just no way Keith could believe his old partner was capable of _that_.

Frank had always maintained Henry had been the one to kill her. But what if Frank had been lying? It seemed he’d been less-than-truthful about other things, so why not this too? So … what was Frank lying about? Who shot Dina, or whether Dina was dead? And there was the curveball - what if Dina Clark hadn’t died? What if she had survived, and paid Frank to keep it quiet? If that were true, why would she have wait nineteen years to come after Frank – and Keith? What could be so important that she would still regard Frank and Keith as threats? Sure, there was an open murder case, but it had been open for nineteen years. So, why off Frank now? And why come after Keith when, as far as she knew, he didn’t know anything? 

When he’d poured over all of their old cases, Keith had identified only two, Leah’s and the Milano gang’s drug distribution ring, that could have resulted in payoffs like the ones Lianne and Felicity described. If it was the Milano case, the only former gang member not dead or in prison was Patrick Fitzpatrick, who was a priest and hadn’t recently associated with any known criminals outside his own family. If it was the Leah O’Connor case, he still didn’t know who would want him and Frank dead, unless Dina Clark was either still alive or had had an accomplice. When he finally fell asleep, Keith’s head was swimming; when he woke the next morning, he was convinced that, no matter how illogical it seemed, Dina Clark must have survived the shooting nineteen years ago.

* * *

Looking at his watch and noticing their appointment had been set for ten minutes earlier, Logan shifted in his chair for the millionth time and glanced at Cliff. He envied the older man’s calm, until he realized Cliff’s eyes were closed. Glancing at the assistant sitting across the room, he unobtrusively used his elbow and was rewarded with a snort as Cliff’s eyes popped open. He looked around as he straightened his tie and glanced at his watch. 

“Time for us to go in?”

“No,” Logan shook his head. “I can’t believe you fell sleep.”

“Some late night debauchery kept me tied up, if you know what I mean.” Cliff said conspiratorially.

Logan thought briefly of Veronica and their conspicuous absence of late night debauchery, or any debauchery for that matter. “I wish I had a more recent understanding of the concept.”

“Well, there is this store on Garnet…” Cliff’s voice trailed off as the door to Simon Foster’s office opened and the sound of raised voices cut through the room.

“Fix this, right now,” a man said harshly from the entrance.

They could hear another voice from within. “Gordon, as I said, we are taking all precautions.” Realizing the man at the door was Gordon West, Logan scrutinized him; mid 40’s, regular features, handsome, lean and well manicured, he would pale next to the pretty boys in Hollywood, but would turn heads in Iowa. He appeared to be doing well though, if the two-thousand dollar suit he wore was any indication.

“Fuck your precautions,” Gordon said, pivoting to stare at the man behind the desk. “One more leak, and she’ll have me by the balls. Sharon’s using the stuff in the tabloids to get a hearing, and if that happens, I’ll pull the manuscript and use my advance for legal fees.”

“Gordon, be reasonable, there’s no reason to think it was –”

“Don’t even try. Someone here is ruining my life, and I will not be fucked with. Just fix it, Simon.” He turned on his heel, without even acknowledging Logan or Cliff, and stormed out.

Mouth ajar, the young assistant at the desk looked between the open door and the waiting visitors; she appeared to be at a loss. 

Cliff stood and winked at her. “We’ll introduce ourselves.” He gestured for Logan and walked through the door.

Simon Foster’s office was decorated in contemporary corporate and shades of cherry wood. The walls were hung with book covers and family pictures – one of Foster with the requisite trophy wife and two towheaded kids. He was pushing 50, but he fought the battle with plugs, a fake tan, and a gold Rolex worth enough to feed a starving African nation. Logan had a pretty good idea what had attracted _Mrs_. Foster, and it wasn’t her husband’s personality.

Collecting his thoughts, Foster looked at them for a minute, and then the mask snapped back into place. Logan found himself glad handed and urged to refer to the older man as ‘Simon.’ He accepted the offered water and was surprised when Foster buzzed his assistant to bring it. Apparently, Gant Publishing was old school, and having a secretary to fetch and carry was still allowed. 

“Sorry about that. My client was a little upset.” Simon waved away the incident with an airy hand.

“A little?” Cliff raised an eyebrow. “I was tempted to give the man a card, because someone that angry is going to be worth a great deal of money to a good lawyer.” Cliff smiled disingenuously.

Foster paled but held on to his practiced smile through sheer will. “Really, it’s nothing you need be concerned about, and there is no way this will get to litigation. He was just blowing off steam. I’m sure you know how it is,” Foster replied, equally oily.

“Of course,” Cliff said smoothly. “However, I’m sure you can appreciate how concerned I am that my client’s privacy be maintained. If Gant Publishing cannot guarantee us that, I’m sure there are other houses that would be more than happy to do so.”

“I assure you, all of your work product will be kept in the strictest confidence. I’ve been here almost 20 years, and we’ve never had anything like this happen before. “

“Have you ever had a book as high profile as mine?” Logan’s question appeared to irritate Foster, who seemed off his game on the heels of his confrontation with West.

“I, and my staff, have an excellent reputation, and, for a small house, we have had our share of provocative and exciting offerings.” As he trotted out his press release answer, he seemed to find his stride. “Our new executive Vice President, Mr. Gant, brought us a new client and made certain promises to him concerning his privacy. Unfortunately, Mr. Gant neglected to ensure the information was not already known by someone outside of Gant Publishing. I can wholeheartedly assure you someone outside this building is to blame for our client’s distress. You, however, can fully trust us with your story. You have my word.”

Logan made a show of looking to Cliff for guidance. “It’s very difficult for me, Mr. Foster –”

“Simon," the older man corrected him.

“Simon,” Logan amended. “But I feel, with the death of my father, there are things I need to get off my chest, to set the record straight.”

Foster nodded reassuringly, as his secretary came in with a tray of drinks and placed them in front of the men. “Of course. That’s why many decide to write an autobiography.”

Logan nodded, warming up to the subject. “The press has made him into a hero, but he was far from it. Plus, the truth needs to be told about some of his…predilections.”

“Oh,” Foster leaned in, trying to keep the prurient interest off his face. “I am sure you’ll feel better once you’ve told your story.” Logan wondered for a second about people’s base need people to know the secrets of their heroes, to uncover their feet of clay, and to destroy the very individuals they supposedly loved. 

“From all the press coverage, you would expect to find him home, cleaning his guns, instead of prancing around in one of Liberace’s more, uh, colorful capes.” Logan played at earnestness, leaning forward in his chair for emphasis. Cliff placed a hand on his arm, as if to remind him not to oversell it. He sat back with a self-satisfied smile, content that Foster had been hooked.

“Well, I had no idea.” Foster said, trying not to look as if he was adding up in his head the sales the story would bring. He failed miserably. “The world needs to know the real story, and you seem to be the only person who can write it. If you are ready to go forward, we can set you up with an editor and you can begin to work immediately.”

Cliff nodded. “Well, there are a few, small, financial details we would need to work out first. My client is very eager to tell his story, for the truth’s sake, but it’s my job to worry about his future. If you know what I mean.” They shared a moment of understanding and twin images of dollar signs.

Foster suavely replied. “Of course. I am sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement. I’m free this afternoon. If you'd like to come in, we can work out the business end of things. Logan needn’t concern himself with anything but his story.”

Logan smiled, as if reassured by Foster’s concern for his delicate sensibilities. “I really appreciate your time, Simon. Assuming everything works out, I’m sure Gant Publishing will be able to help me tell the world what my father was really like.” He stood up, Cliff behind him, Simon following. 

Foster put his hand on Logan’s shoulder as he ushered him to the door. “I look forward to working with you, Logan.”

“Thanks, Simon. Me too.” Hands were shaken all around; outside the inner sanctum, Cliff stopped to chat up the assistant. As they left, Logan said, in an undertone “Got ‘em.” 

Cliff nodded sagely, hitting the elevator button. “We certainly did.”

* * *

The next morning Logan was awakened by his cell phone. Still half asleep, he put the phone to his ear, closing his eyes again when he heard Cliff’s distinctive voice.

“Kid, are you sure you don’t want to write your memoirs? I had no idea how much the market could bear until I put some weight on it. You could do quite well. We’re talking serious money here.”

Logan sat up, running a hand over his face. “Cliff, this was just for the case -- I have no interest in airing my dirty laundry.”

“I know, but, I’m just sayin’, people will pay a fortune to see your BVD’s. You could make a killing, even after my substantial, but not unreasonable, cut.”

“Good to know. Sorry to disappoint you, but I think I’ll keep my underwear private for now.”

“Think of the fans. Think of the money. Think of me,” Cliff wheedled. 

“Really not interested, but if I change my mind you’ll be the first to know.”

“I certainly will, since Gant Publishing thinks I’m your manager.” The only response Cliff got was Logan’s groan. “Fine, Madeleine O’Rourke had time in this afternoon for a meet and greet. I told them you didn’t know what format you’re interested in, so she’ll give you some options.”

“Sounds good, thanks Cliff.” Logan hung up and fell back asleep.

* * *

The first surprise Logan had in Madeleine O’Rourke’s office was that her assistant was male. He introduced himself as Mike Shay and offered something to drink, which Logan declined. Unlike her boss, O’Rourke kept her schedule; at the stroke of two, Mike showed Logan into the office. Once again, he was surprised by the woman he’d come to meet. He’d expected New York sophistication, instead, the woman before him was grandmotherly. Her liberally graying black hair was falling out of an untidy bun, and glasses hung from her neck on a chain made of stones of all colors and sizes. Her jacket looked like an old kimono, and it clashed with the green print of her pants. But her eyes were sharp and direct, and her handshake firm and professional.

“Mr. Echolls, I understand you are considering writing an autobiography,” she said, gesturing to a chair as she took the one facing him. Behind her, the desk was thoroughly stacked with paper, and he could barely make out her keyboard underneath the mess.

“Logan, please.” At her nod, he began, “Yes, I’ve been thinking about it since my father’s death. Once he was cleared of Lilly’s murder, and then murdered himself, the press practically canonized him. I think the real story needs to be told.”

Her eyes were sympathetic. “Logan, I’m sure this is difficult for you, but I want to make sure you’re comfortable with whatever format we pick. Taking care of you is my job.” She sounded so sincere Logan found himself hoping she wasn’t the culprit.

“I appreciate that. I really do.” He dropped his eyes and looked at his hands clenched in his lap. No matter how nice she seemed, he had a job to do and he needed to get it done. “There are many things that will be hard to talk about.” He paused and looked at her through the screen of his eyelashes. Instead of being anxious to know what he would reveal, O’Rourke seemed content to wait and see what he would say. “One of the biggest was that my parents were never really married. It seems Aaron and his first wife were never officially divorced, so I guess all those people who called me a bastard were right.” The edge in his voice was not feigned, even though the information was. For some reason, Logan was feeling worse and worse about lying to her. When he lifted his eyes, she was still looking at him calmly and seemed completely unfazed by his information.

“Logan, I’m not sure you’re ready to do this right now. I may be wrong, and if I am, then I am here for you one hundred percent, but maybe you should rethink the timing.” 

He was shocked; she laughed at his expression. “Logan, it’s my job to know people. To know how to get the truth, even truths they might not know, onto paper. Unless you need the money right now, my advice is to wait. Your father’s death is still recent and you need time to deal with it.” 

Logan nodded, looking again at his knotted fingers, and realized she was right. He hadn’t dealt with his father’s death, not really. He could continue to shy away from reality, but at some point it was going to catch up with him. Especially if this woman could recognize it just from meeting him. 

Taking in his silence and body language, Madeleine briefly placed a hand on his knee. “Logan, I’ll write up some notes and my assistant will file them. Think about what you want to do. If you decide to go forward, call. If not, they will be there when you're ready.” She smiled reassuringly as she stood up and opened the door. “It was very nice to meet you, Logan, and good luck.” 

“And you.” He paused for a moment. “And, thanks.” Logan left, nodding to Mike as he walked out and down the hallway to the elevators.

* * *

“So, Mars, what’s the occasion?” Logan asked genially as he insinuated his lanky frame into the back booth at Mama Leone’s. He smiled cautiously, not wanting to appear too happy about meeting Veronica out for dinner. Lately, her mood had been unpredictable, and he was certain she was hiding something. He’d had a gut feeling something was wrong, had returned early from San Francisco because of it, and nothing in their recent conversations yet had successfully dispelled it. 

“Logan.” Veronica smiled, avoiding his eyes. “I just . . . I wanted to thank you for being such a good sport about Gant Publishing. I know it couldn’t have been easy to talk about Aaron, but I heard you were brilliant."

Ignoring the remark about Aaron, he wasn’t ready to talk about _him_ with _her_ , he kept it light. “I take it you’ve been checking up on me again, Mars?” His tone was neutral, but his eyes sparkled. Veronica blushed a bit and looked down. It had been a while since she and Logan had enjoyed dinner together, just the two of them. 

“So, Veronica,” Logan picked up the menu, grinning at her over the top. “What else did Mr. McCormack tell you?”

Veronica stared for a second, clearly focused on something other than his words. “What? Oh, Cliff. Not much, just that you were … 'masterful'.”

“Hmm. I’m masterful?” Logan queried, staring into her eyes. Feeling her body break out in a sweat, she hid behind her menu. “Veronica. Why are you reading the menu? It’s not as if you haven’t got it memorized, and, anyway, you already know what you’re going to order. Hell, I already know what you’re going to order.”

“You think you know me so well, Logan,” she snapped, her eyes shining. “I might surprise you, one of these days.” Logan didn’t reply; he merely reached across the table and snatched the menu from her hand. 

“Logan,” she protested, as he dangled it just out of her reach. “Give it back.” He laughed. She rose and lunged toward him; he jerked backward, smirking. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,” she added, slumping back into her seat. 

“Is it, now?” He waggled his eyebrows indecently. “Tell me more, Mars,” he murmured, pretending to read the appetizer list. “How do you feel about oysters, Veronica?” he tossed out smugly. Veronica exhaled deeply. 

“You should have told me you were planning to get lucky later,” she dead panned, an indefinable look in her eye. 

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he scanned her face, trying to assess her intent. “No, but I was thinking you might be hoping to, Veronica,” he slowly drawled, an obscene smirk on his face as he stared at the indentation just above her collarbone that had, in the past, given them both so much pleasure. He reached out and brushed an errant wisp of hair from her face. She bit her lip, trembling as his light touch grazed her temple. 

“Lo. . . Logan,” she breathed her voice husky. “I thought. . . .” She hesitated, cleared her throat, “I thought we were going to be just friends,” she finished, her voice firm and business-like. 

“You can always change your mind.” 

“But you were the one who wanted it that way,” she said accusingly. “It wasn’t my decision, remember?”

Logan shrugged it off casually. “You never know, Veronica, I might surprise _you_ , one of these days.” Unsettled by her wounded look, he dropped his eyes. “So, oysters?”

“Sure, why not?” she said, matching her nonchalance to his. “Mmm, can we get some clams casino too?” Logan chuckled, diverted by her unconditional enthusiasm for food, especially Italian. 

Once their orders arrived, they fell into a more relaxed, easy banter; Logan gave her an amusing version of Gordon West’s departure from Foster’s office, and a hysterical recounting of Cliff’s smarmy attempts to hit on Foster’s secretary. He told her about his afternoon session with Madeleine O’Rourke, his sense of her sincerity, and her ‘unusual’ male assistant who, like Simon Foster’s more traditional assistant, fetched and carried. He saved the best material, his ‘masterful’ enticement of Gant Vice President Simon Foster, for dessert, which he insisted she order even though he was certain she couldn’t possibly consume another bite. 

“Have the tiramisu, Veronica,” he demanded. “I know you want some.”

“Are you going to have something?” she asked coyly. 

“I will if you do.” 

“Okay,” she bounced happily. “I’ll have the tiramisu, and some espresso,” she shot a questioning glance at him. 

“By all means, Mars,” he agreed with a flourish of his hand. “You realize I’m going to have to roll you out of here?”

“You’ll probably have to carry me up the –” she began gaily, stopping abruptly when she realized what she’d said. 

“I’m sure I can manage, Veronica,” he assured her with a wink. “You can’t have gained that much weight from one meal, even if you did eat enough for three.”

* * *

Later that night, sleepily snuggled in her bed, her tongue still savoring the warm, mocha flavor of tiramisu, espresso, and Logan, she wondered longingly whether or not they’d ever get it right. When she was in his arms, everything seemed right, but outside their shelter, she was besieged by doubts that kept her up night – doubts and longings.

He walked her to her car, shoulders bumping companionably as they strolled beneath the velvety night sky. Saying goodbye, he hugged her tightly, resting his chin atop her scented blonde locks. Feather-soft, he kissed her forehead and temple, his hands roaming aimlessly across her back, fingers drawing circles. When she tilted up to gaze into his chocolate eyes, his lips moved lower, caressing her ear and cheekbone, until, finally, he pressed his lips against hers, his tongue flicking delicately against her lips until she let him in. 

She sighed, faintly, sucking gently on his tongue as she arched into his firm, muscled chest. His mouth became more insistent as he slid one hand beneath her sweater and began languidly bedeviling her skin with his fingertips. His other hand dug into her hip as he drew her closer. Shivering with anticipation, she buried her hands underneath his jacket, clutching his tee shirt as their kiss deepened. 

Within a minute, she was pinned to her car door as Logan’s roving hand slipped from her back to her waist and thrummed against her ribcage. Gasping - for air and from the pressure of his hard-on throbbing against her belly - she broke the kiss, leaning back, her chest heaving. “Lo – Lo-gan,” she stuttered, breathless and aroused. “What . . . what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, but hummed against her neck as he licked a path from her ear to her neck and down to the vale of her clavicle. Eyes closed, she shuddered, twisting and turning, but his mouth was everywhere, wet and rough and. . . . She raised her hand to try to push him away and encountered . . .… coarse spikey bristles. Groggily opening one eye, she found herself face to face with Backup’s inquisitive amber ones. He licked her again, his cold, wet nose nudging her chin. 

Sunlight streamed through her bedroom window. and; her clock said it was seven a.m. She heaved a sigh of disappointment and shoved the covers off. It was time to catch the Gant Publishing mole.

* * *

Casey paced in front of Veronica’s desk, agitation showing on his usually placid face. “Veronica, where are we?”

Veronica held her hands up in defeat. “Casey, I told you, I don’t think it is Simon or Madeleine. If either one was only in it for the money, one of Logan’s ‘secrets’ would have been leaked. But so far, nothing. I think it’s Gordon’s partner, his ex.”

Casey shook his head. “I looked into that. The quote from the last article came directly from the manuscript. The same wording, everything. And Gordon swears no one saw his draft outside of my company. His next chapter is due early next week and he refuses to deliver it until we can guarantee his privacy. The next chapter is his affair with Suzy, and he’s convinced the details would ruin his contract negotiations.”

Veronica chewed on her cuticle in frustration. “Well, either Simon is smart enough to hide his payoff somewhere other than his regular accounts, or Madeleine is stupid enough not to hide it at all.” 

Casey looked at Veronica. “Actually, Madeleine gave her notice this morning. How does that affect your reasoning?”

Veronica perked up, but then felt a pang, remembering about how much Logan seemed to like O’Rourke. “So it looks like she took a payoff and no longer needs the job? That’s a good sign.”

Casey stopped pacing. “She had a death in the family. She said, after shepherding so many untalented authors, she wants to see if she has the chops to write the great American novel. We’ll probably promote her assistant. He’s young but ambitious, and has a degree from NYU, so he’s qualified. In fact, he was overqualified for his position, but Madeleine seemed to like him.”

Something clicked in Veronica’s brain. “The assistant, he probably knew Madeline was giving notice. He would, working so closely with her.” She stared across the room, but her eyes were unfocused as she reviewed what Logan had told her. “The assistant, Mike, right?” Casey nodded. “He would have access to the same information Madeleine had. She even told Logan that Mike files her notes. I wonder what _his_ bank statements look like?” Smiling to herself, she picked up the phone.

“You think it was Mike?” Casey seemed confused by Veronica’s logic.

“Mac should be able to tell us. Mac, can you run another name for me? We have another suspect, actually two.” Veronica noticed that once she said Mac’s name she had Casey’s full attention. She gave Mac both names and received a promise for information within the hour.

Veronica hung up and smiled at Casey. “I think I’ll have your problem solved this afternoon. Mac is on the case, and I’m pretty sure I know what she’s going to tell me.”

“Great. I have a meeting now, but I’ll drop by after.”

“Sure. I should have something in a few hours,” Veronica promised as he took his leave.

* * *

Walking in later, seeing Veronica’s self-satisfied look, Casey could tell she’d cracked the case. Before she said a word, he was shaking his head in awe. “You did it, didn’t you?”

Veronica smiled hugely. “Well, with a little help from my friends. I told you, this isn't a one woman show.”

He sat on the edge of her desk, one long leg swinging. “So, were you right?”

Her smile got bigger. “Yup, and better, I have proof. There were deposits in Mike’s accounts that just happened to coincide with withdrawals from Sharon’s. It seemed the ex, bitter about West cheating with Suzy Majors, made a deal with Mike. To strengthen her case, she paid him to tip off the tabloids with bits from the manuscript. She figured if she made things expensive enough for Gordon, he would settle even though she didn’t have much of a case. Mike got paid by the tabloids and was hoping Madeleine, as the editor, would be the scapegoat and be fired. With her gone, he would get the promotion he wanted. Basically it was a win-win for everyone but you.”

Casey’s relief was evident on his face. “And you have proof?”

“The bank statements should be enough to make Mike spill. You can assure Gordon his confidential secrets are still secret, and you’ll look like a genius when his book comes out and immediately goes to number one on the New York Times best seller list.”

“Before I worry about the Times, I need to get this damn book published. Gordon is an ass, and with Madeleine leaving, I need an editor.”

Veronica snapped her fingers, “I can solve that problem too. There seems to be a very nice editor at a rival house; Dad met with him a few times when his regular editor was unavailable. He might be willing to switch houses if you offer him a good enough reason.”

“So you are both a PI and a head hunter?” Casey said appreciatively. 

“Well, we try to be a full service institution.”

Casey looked down for a second. “I’m so grateful to you and your hacking operative. You’ve saved my career. Let me buy you and Mac dinner to show my appreciation?”

Veronica paused, thinking about Mac’s reaction to Casey. Casey, misreading her silence, held his hands up. “Just friends – I swear. Tell Logan his woman is safe. Actually, tell him he’s invited. We wouldn’t have been able to solve this without his help.”

“Oh, that’s not it. Didn't I tell you that Logan and I aren't …” Veronica hated feeling the blush high on her cheekbones.

“Right, because I frequently pose as a potential author and reveal family secrets, even if they are fake, for people I don’t care about. You two will work this out,” he said optimistically.

Veronica smiled. “I think I’ll pass along your thanks to Logan personally, but let me give you Mac’s number. You can thank _her_ in person.” She handed him a piece of paper.

He took it and smiled charmingly at her. “I think I might do that.” He started to walk out of the office. “Thanks again.”

“Casey.” At her words, he paused and turned back. “Take it slow,” she nodded at the paper in his hand.

He tipped his imaginary cap, “I will, promise.” Veronica silently wished him good luck as he left the office.

* * *

Knocking on Logan’s door, not knowing what to expect, Veronica took a long, deep breath and braced herself for whatever she might find. When he opened the door in nothing but jeans and a welcoming smile, she breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, he wasn’t entertaining anyone tonight; thank God, because she wasn’t sure what she would have done. Her answering smile was less sure than his, but no less earnest. He looked good – he looked amazing; no shirt, no shoes, the snap of his jeans undone and his hair all bedheady. 

She held up bags of Chinese and waggled them in his face. “I brought Wong’s.”

“I love to start the evening with a hot blonde and Chinese,” he quipped, swinging the door wide. She could feel his assessment as she brushed by, his eyes lingered approvingly on her ass, and she was glad she’d taken the time to shower and put on makeup and her shortest mini. When she turned to say something, Logan was still holding the doorknob, a telling smirk on his face. 

“Logan,” she said sternly. “The hot blonde would like to eat the Chinese while it’s still hot.”

“Hmm. What did you say, Veronica?” he teased, his eyes traveling up and down her slender frame. “You want to eat something ... hot, was it? I think that can be arranged.” 

She tried not to blush, but the intensity of his stare was too much. “Food.” She tilted her head toward the paper sacks. “I said I wanted to eat the Chinese while it was still warm.” 

Logan grinned sheepishly, his eyes dancing. He slammed the front door and flipped the lock. “Oh, is that what you meant?” he remarked dryly. “You want me to get some plates?”

Shrugging indifferently, she told him, “Whatever you want. Plates are optional as far as I’m concerned.” 

“What’s the occasion?” he called as he padded into the kitchen to grab glasses, a beer, a soda, and napkins. 

“What?”

“What’s the occasion, Mars?” He repeated. “To what do I owe the unexpected surprise and pleasure of your company?” he finished, depositing the items on the coffee table. 

Veronica titled her head, her lips twitching. “I brought you dinner to thank you for all your help. We stopped the leak and saved Casey’s career.”

“I guess that’s good for Casey,” he answered impassively. “And it’s good for me, too.” He indicated the bags, “Is all this for me, or are you going to have some?” 

Pretending to be indignant, she smacked him on the arm. “I got two of everything, so I won’t have to share.”

“You got two of everything so you could eat yours and finish mine too.” 

“No.... Well, okay, maybe.” 

“How many egg rolls?” Logan leered, secure in the knowledge that egg rolls were a weakness he could exploit.

“Enough for both of us,” she insisted hotly, hand on hip. 

“So we’re going to divide them evenly?” he persisted, a wicked glint in his eye.

“I didn’t say that, Logan. I said I got enough. When did you decide to join the communist party and divide everything equally? I brought the eggrolls, I get more than you.”

Logan snatched up one of the bags from the table and peered in. “Looks like I get all the egg rolls,” he crowed, dangling the bag high overhead. 

“Lo-gan,” she pouted, arms crossed, her face scrunched in a pitiful, woe-is-me expression. “Please,” she coaxed, moving tentatively toward him.

“Nuh uh,” he warned, shaking his finger. “Come any closer and they’re all mine.” She stopped moving, but pleaded with her eyes. His face lit up. “What’re they worth to you, Veronica?” he baited gleefully. “What are you gonna do for me, for these egg rolls.”

Sizing up the situation, she eyed him and lunged, catching him around the waist and tickling his ribs. Anticipating her assault, Logan had the presence of mind to set the package on a chair before grabbing her up and flinging her over his shoulder. She pounded on his back as he walked her to the front door, taunting her by biting at her bare thighs. 

“Alright, alright. I give,” she panted, breathless with laughter as he set her down. “Whaddya want, Logan?”

“A backrub.” His hand pushed at the back of his neck. “After we eat. C’mon.” 

He clasped her in his and led her back to the den where the food sat waiting. They plopped onto the couch and began opening cartons, wrappers flying as they picked up chopsticks and dug in. Giggling like schoolchildren, they flung packets of soy sauce and sweet ‘n’ sour at each other, and swiped bites from the other’s box, all the while grinning like they hadn’t in a long time. 

After they’d finished all the food, Logan opened another beer and they settled in to watch, by consensus, _It Happened One Night_ , on AMC. Sometime before the first commercial break, Logan leaned back and slid his arm around Veronica’s shoulders. Shortly after the second set of commercials, Veronica’s head slipped onto his chest and she curled into his side, his nose buried in her fragrant hair. By the time Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert realized they were in love with each other but afraid to admit it, Veronica was asleep. Smiling down at his sleeping beauty blonde, Logan toasted Gable, Colbert, and Frank Capra.


	17. Those Magic Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When another Neptune trophy wife vanishes in a puff of literal smoke, Logan is forced to recommend Veronica's services, even as he struggles with his feelings for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by txtequilanights and TrueMyth  
> Our notes: Thanks so much to kantayra, __tiana__, mutinousmuse, and mastermia for all of their help and suggestions.

Veronica awoke to a vibration in the depths of her pocket and the gentle pressure of Logan’s head against the curve of her side. It wasn’t until a distinct ring tone penetrated her sleep-addled brain that she realized her father was trying to call her. 

“Dad,” she choked out in a voice still rough with sleep as she shifted and reached for her cell, pushing down the soft green blanket that had somehow settled on her during the night. Logan started at her movement, but his eyes were alert as he listened to her side of the conversation.

When she assured her father that, yes, she’d be home _soon_ and, yes, she was _fine_ , Logan closed his eyes for a long moment and then rose to his feet Veronica watched him disappear through the kitchen door before she stood carefully, cursing the impracticality of the short mini that had seemed such a good idea at the time.

“I’ll see you soon then. Veronica? There are a few things I think we really need to talk about.” Keith’s voice crackled across the distance between them, full of cautious hope that made anxiety settle in the pit of Veronica’s stomach.

“Yep, that sounds good.” Veronica snapped the phone shut before shuffling into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter bar and watched through her sleep-weighted lashes as Logan dumped measured dashes of crystallized coffee and French vanilla powder into two cups of steaming water. She stared at his hands as he worked, scooping and stirring, and couldn’t help but remember the feel of those hands moving over her skin in firm, gentle caresses.

A short, soft moan broke the silence and Veronica blushed when Logan looked up at her with a question in his furrowed brow. 

She moved towards the door and mumbled something about her father, grousing about his mysterious trips to Fresno and speculating that it was nicer when he used to lie about being out tracking bail jumpers. Suddenly, a hot cup of coffee was hanging in the air in front of her and she had to stop, acknowledge Logan again, meet his eyes. His fingers brushed hers when she took the mug from his hand and she had to suppress a shiver.

“Thanks,” she informed the kitchen door frame. That eye contact thing wasn’t so easy in practice.

“You might want to try giving him a break.” 

Logan’s suggestion was more effective at waking Veronica than the first sip of caffeine she was sputtering as she blinked at him. 

Logan shrugged. “He found Grace for you, right? Didn’t give you much trouble about keeping the whole Weevil thing from him?” As soon as her head made the approximation of a nod he rushed on, “So-maybe-you-shouldn’t-be-so-hard-on-him.” Logan took a deep breath, but Veronica was having trouble breathing at all and he filled the silence again. “He just cares about you.”

Veronica felt heat rise along her neck, licking like a flame across her cheeks and at the corner of her eyes. Her knuckles were turning white around the handle of the coffee cup. The only thing more infuriating than being told to do something you didn’t want to do was being told to do something that you didn’t want to do… that was probably the right thing. 

She coughed.

She placed the coffee on an end table and counted to three. 

And she tried to make a joke. 

“Well. Yeah. Thanks for that. Too bad that ‘Parent-Child Relationships for Dummies’ came out so late, huh?” Veronica closed her eyes the second the words left her mouth but not quickly enough to miss Logan’s flinch. 

She heard his footsteps moving away from her and called out, “Logan…” only to see him waiting by the open door. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palms as she put her head down and marched outside. The keys jingled from her hand, but not loud enough to block out Logan’s final salvo. 

“You’re right. I have no idea why your father doesn’t tell you things.” 

And the door fell shut.

* * *

“Dad?” Veronica pushed open the door to his office and stuck her head in.

Keith looked up from the paperwork on his desk and motioned for her to come in. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi,” she said, dropping into the nearest chair. “Sorry I wasn’t home, things got a little insane. Don’t worry,” she said when he opened his mouth, “I didn’t do anything morally reprehensible.”

“I can’t help but worry,” Keith said. “It’s my job.”

Veronica sighed. “You get to keep tabs on me because you're worried, but then you get _shot at_ by a—“ she gulped as visions of Campbell danced in her head. “And I don't get to find out why you're running off to Fresno?”

The words all came out in a rush and Veronica stopped to take a deep breath, pushing down the rising wave of frustration. Yelling would only make things worse.

“Honey,” Keith said gently. “I know you’re worried, but I’m fine. And the Fresno thing, it’s just something I have to take care of, okay? I’m not going to get hurt.”

Veronica shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do, I’m the Man of Steel, or didn’t I tell you? Keith Mars is just my secret identity.” Keith leaned back in his chair and gave Veronica a smile that she couldn’t help but return.

“Just make sure your uniform doesn’t feature any bright red tights, okay? I’m not sure Neptune is ready for that.”

* * *

Dick took two steps into Logan’s living room and froze dead in his tracks. On the TV screen against the far wall, Patrick Swayze was getting into a car and driving off in a cloud of dust while “She’s Like The Wind” played mournfully in the background.

And Logan? Logan was sitting on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen. Humming.

“Dude, please tell me my eyes are playing tricks on me. You are _not_ watching Dirty Dancing.” 

Logan jerked upright and Dick did not miss the way he wiped at the corner of his eyes before he shot Dick a slightly offended glare. “What? It’s a _classic_ , man. Plus, it was on Bravo.”

Dick just stared. “You need to get laid.”

“Whatever,” Logan snorted, and turned back to face the television. But Dick was not about to let it go that easily. He had _plans_.

“Luckily for you,” Dick said, dropping onto the couch beside Logan and snagging a slice of pizza from the open box on the coffee table. “I have the perfect way to make that happen.”

“Let me guess,” Logan said dryly. “They opened a new strip club downtown.”

Dick took a giant bite of pizza and shook his head. “Naw,” he mumbled through a mouth full of pepperoni. “You have to pay extra to fuck those girls. The pussy I’m gonna get for us is free.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Logan sighed. He reached for another piece of pizza and slouched back against the couch, keeping one eye on the dripping cheese and the other on Dick.

“Okay. So, there’s this girl, right? Her name is Amber or Amanda or…something. It starts with an A. Whatever. The point is that she? So wants to hit this.” Dick broke off for a second to make a lewd gesture at his crotch.

Logan rolled his eyes. 

“And she has _several_ friends,” Dick continued with heavy emphasis. “I’m sure any of them would be more than happy to christen your little love nest.”

“Not really interested,” Logan said. “But somehow, I’m guessing that getting me laid was only your secondary objective. So what do you want, Dick?”

“There’s a party tonight. Some country club high-roller is celebrating his wife turning twenty-three for the third time or something. Doesn’t matter. Point is? This girl…Amanda…Alicia…whatever. She’ll be there, which means that I need to be there.” Dick stopped and pointed his pizza crust in Logan’s direction. “And you need to get the fuck out of the house already, so what do you say?”

“You want me to be your wingman?” Logan asked. He paused for a second, but then shrugged and tossed his own crust back into the box. “Sure, dude. Why not?”

Dick nodded in satisfaction and grabbed another slice of pizza. It was so on.

* * *

It turned out that the girl’s name was Ashley. And, to Logan’s surprise, she actually _did_ seem to want a piece of Dick. Usually, nights like this involved Dick following a chick around for a few hours while she repeatedly found new and inventive ways to brush him off. 

But Ashley had glued herself to Dick’s side as soon as he and Logan walked in the door. So now Logan was left to sit at the bar and get drunk while eating more tiny sandwiches than any one person should rightfully be able to stomach. 

The invitation Dick had waved around said something about entertainment, but the last thing Logan expected when the lights went down was a curtain in the back of the room to rise and reveal a temporary stage set against the far wall. 

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Well, that was unexpected,” he muttered.

“Bess insisted on a magician,” a female voice said from his left and Logan spun around on his barstool to find a blonde girl about his age sitting beside him. “Sometimes, I swear she’s a ten year-old in a 24 year-old’s body.”

Logan just blinked at her. “Bess?”

“The hostess?” The girl laughed. “The reason we’re all here?”

“I just came with a friend,” Logan shrugged. The girl had turned her barstool so that her long, bare legs were inches from his thigh and Logan had to fight the urge to just jump up and walk away. 

This was probably one of the girls Dick had been so enthusiastic about hooking him up with and a year ago he wouldn’t have minded. But right now she looked way too much like Veronica and the reason he was here in the first place was to get his fucking mind off of her.

He purposely directed his eyes back to the stage, where smoke was drifting out from behind the black fabric draped on either side to create a swirling, ankle high mist. After a second, the girl let out an impatient sigh and Logan heard her slide off the stool and then the sound of her heels clacking away.

On stage, a man in a deep blue cape was standing in front of a microphone, clutching a top hat. The banner that had been unraveled to hang across the top of the stage proclaimed him to be Mistoffelees the Magical. Yeah, that was original. 

Logan popped another star-shaped mini sandwich in his mouth and settled back to watch. The alternative was finding Dick and watching him shove his tongue down Ashley’s throat. Somehow, Logan thought the magician would trigger his gag reflex a whole hell of a lot less.

“Some magicians like to go out with a bang,” the man on the stage intoned, “but I like to start with one. So, for my first trick, I’ll need the assistance of the lovely birthday girl. Mrs. Harrison?”

A spotlight appeared from above the stage and swept across the crowd until it landed on a petite brunette in a red dress so tight that Logan was surprised she could breathe. She was surrounded by a group of women who began clapping insanely and hugging her like she’d just won an Oscar. Logan recognized one of them as Colleen Sharpe. 

Bess giggled and bounced up onto the stage on four-inch stilettos. Logan waved for another drink. If you’d watched one drunken trophy wife slur her way through a speech at the ridiculously extravagant party her husband threw for her, then you’d seen them all. And he didn’t even have Veronica in a short skirt at this one. Not that he was thinking about Veronica.

Eventually, the woman’s babbling came to a halt and the magician’s booming voice took over again. “Now, Bess – excuse me, _Mrs. Harrison_ – could you please step right over here while my assistant prepares the trick.”

Bess giggled, again, and tottered over to stand to the side of the stage. From behind the drapes, a tall woman in a glittery leotard wheeled out a giant glass box.

“As you can see,” the magician said – Logan couldn’t quite force himself to think of him as Mistoffelees. Unless _he_ wanted to be the one giggling, that is. “Here I have a perfectly empty, enclosed box.”

He moved slightly aside so the audience could watch as his assistant ran her hands over the glass enclosure, proving it to be solid. “Now, Bess, if you will just step right up inside,” he held out his hand to help Bess up the short set of stairs and into the box, “the magic can begin.”

The assistant closed the door firmly behind Bess and as the lights began to flash and music began to play, the box slowly filled with an opaque cloud of smoke, obscuring Bess completely.

“Abra Cadabra Alakazam!” the magician announced dramatically. He swept his top hat off his head and pointed it in the direction of the box as the smoke began to clear. Leaving behind nothing but empty glass.

The audience broke into enthusiastic applause and even Logan clapped one hand against the side of his drink. After all, who didn’t appreciate a good magic trick?

“Bring her back!” Someone called from the audience and the magician raised one hand, silencing the crowd. 

“If you will all direct your attention to the second floor landing,” he said, “I think you’ll find quite a surprise waiting for you.”

The party-goers turned, practically as a unit, to the sound of a dramatic drum roll. The spotlight did circles around the crowd, highlighting each corner of the room before finally coming to rest at the top of the staircase.

“Alakazam!” The magician declared and everyone stared in awe….at empty air. Bess wasn’t there.

Logan downed the rest of his drink and set his glass on the wooden bar with a sharp click. Quite a surprise, all right.

* * *

Two hours later, the Sheriff’s department still hadn’t let anyone go home. 

Usually, you had to wait 24 hours before the police would do anything about a missing person, but when rich people disappeared at their own birthday parties, Lamb dropped everything. Logan was nowhere near the neighborhood of surprised. 

He’d been one of the first ones questioned. Lamb had only let it go after the bartender swore up and down that Logan hadn’t left his seat the entire time. Even then, Lamb had ordered him not to leave town until they found out what happened.

Right. Whatever.

Dick was…somewhere. The last time Logan had seen him, he’d stolen one of the deputies’ handcuffs and was dangling them in front of Ashley’s face. She’d look intrigued and Logan had to turn away before the mental images forced him to beg Lamb to arrest him after all, just to get away from that.

“Can I get a scotch on the rocks?” a man asked as he slid wearily onto the stool beside Logan. 

The bartender nodded and reached for glass. “Coming right up.”

The man took the drink and drained it in long gulp before pushing it across the counter. “Another.”

“Me too,” Logan spoke up, nudging his own empty glass in the bartender’s direction.

The man turned to face Logan, leaning one elbow against the bar and raking the other through his slightly graying hair. “Hey, Logan Echolls, right?” Logan gave him a half-hearted nod, and the man continued. “Stanley Harrison, I, ah, I used to play poker with your father.”

“So, does that make you a murderer, too?” Logan said coldly, cocking one eyebrow.

Stanley winced. “I said I played poker with him, not that I liked him. If it makes you feel any better, I certainly killed him at the tables. Your old man? Major tell.”

“Oh, really?” Logan asked, interested despite himself.

"Yeah," Stanley said with a nod. "Every time he tried to bluff, he'd ruin it by slamming his drink back so fast it always looked like he was about to choke on it."

"Too bad he didn't," Logan muttered. "So, Harrison? Any relation to Little Miss Magic?" He gestured at the top of staircase, where Bess had failed to appear.

"She's my wife," Stanley replied quietly.

“Oh.” Logan said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” Stanley looked down at the drink the bartender handed him, swirling it gently so that ice clinked against the sides of the crystal glass. He suddenly looked a decade older and Logan couldn’t help but remember the hours directly after his mother’s car had been found on the bridge.

“You know,” Logan said slowly. “The Neptune Sheriff’s department couldn’t be more incompetent if they tried. Trust me, Donny-boy and I have been up close and personal more times than I care to remember. But I know someone who might actually have a chance in hell of actually _finding_ your wife, if you want me to give her a call.”

Stanley looked at him, surprised. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll take all the help I can get. I just want Bess back.”

“Mr. Harrison?” A deputy appeared at Stanley’s shoulder. “The Sheriff has some more questions for you.”

“Coming,” Stanley sighed. He dug a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Logan. “Let me know after you talk to your friend. I really appreciate the offer.”

“No problem,” Logan said, taking the card and watching as Stanley made his way across the room.

He was just helping out a guy whose wife had, literally, disappeared into thin air. That was all. This had not one damn thing to with Veronica. He was completely over her.

Logan slammed back the rest of his drink, tried not to choke, and went to pry Dick off of Ashley. He didn't care what the damn Sheriff said; he was getting the hell out of here.

* * *

“Do I really have to go in there with you?” Dick slouched down in the passenger seat of the X-Terra and glared at the front door of Mars Investigations. 

“Stop being such a pussy,” Logan muttered. He pocketed the keys and swung his door open. “And get your ass out of the car.”

He wasn’t nervous about seeing Veronica. Not in the least. He’d just brought Dick along to help explain what had happened. Surely Dick had seen something; he and Ashley had to have come up for air at some point.

Dick grumbled all the way up the stairs and into Veronica’s office. She was sitting behind her desk, absorbed in paperwork, but looked up when they came in.

“Welcome to Mars…Logan?” She tilted her head at him, expertly covering her surprise with generic curiosity. “What are you doing here?”

“Dick and I were at a party last night. The birthday girl disappeared and I told her husband you might be able to help find her.”

Veronica immediately went into business mode and grabbed a notebook and pen off her desk. “What’s her name?”

“Bess Harrison. Her husband’s name is Stanley, he used to play poker with my…with Aaron.”

Veronica made a face, but wrote something down in her notebook. “Stan Harrison, he’s a big time investment banker. I’m guessing she’s his trophy wife?”

Logan nodded, a slight smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Got it in one.”

“And what were you doing there?” Veronica asked, pen poised over her paper.

“Free pussy,” Dick announced. “I was trying to get my boy here laid, since you won’t do it for him.”

Logan heaved a sigh and Veronica’s eye narrowed dangerously in Dick’s direction. “Get out,” she said evenly.

“Happy to,” Dick grumbled. He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “I’ll be in the car, dude.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Logan dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped them in Dick’s hand. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“You have the most charming friends,” Veronica commented dryly when the door closed behind Dick.

“Sorry about that,” Logan said, rubbing one hand across the back of his neck.

“So,” Veronica said, clearly making a point of changing the subject. “Tell me about this party.”

“It was an ’09er party.” Logan shrugged. “Free booze, lots of small talk, and a magician.”

Veronica blinked. “A magician? Man, trophy wives are just getting younger and younger. Back in my day they had to be at least old enough to drive.”

“Apparently, she was young at heart,” Logan said wryly. “Will you take the case?”

“Sure, sure.” Veronica waved a hand in the air. “Finding someone who, literally, vanished into thin air? Piece of cake.”

Logan dug his wallet out of his back pocket and handed over Stanley’s business card. “Here’s the husband’s card - I wrote their address on the back. I’ll give him a call, let him know to expect you. Oh, and Bess was sitting next to Colleen Sharpe at the party, so you might want to pay Pussy a visit.”

“Don’t call her that,” Veronica said automatically as she took the card from him. “And Logan?” She looked down, then back up, but avoided meeting his eyes. “About this morning…”

Just then the phone on Veronica’s desk rang shrilly, cutting off her words. 

“Veronica,” Keith’s voice called from inside his office. “Could you get that? And if it’s Vinnie, tell him I said ‘over my dead body.’ Okay?”

“Sure, Dad,” Veronica called back and turned away to reach for the phone.

“Mars Investigations,” she said, and Logan slipped out the door.

* * *

Veronica looked at the slip of paper in her hand and then back at the house in front of her. She had made a call to Stanley Harrison, who had given her the phone number of the agency he contacted the magician through. They, in turn, had, with a little creative prodding, given her his address. 

It seemed that Mistoffelees the Magical resided in a pink house that identified itself as “Auntie’s Aunt-tiques.”

“Small town America, right here in Neptune,” Veronica said dryly as she climbed the front steps.

She pushed open the door and was instantly enveloped in a cloud of dust. Coughing, she fanned her hands in front of her face until she could breathe again, and looked around the store.

It was packed wall-to-wall with old furniture and shelves upon shelves of knickknacks. Veronica sneezed.

“Bless you,” someone said and Veronica turned to see a man emerge from behind a particularly large shelf that was crammed full of old records. 

“Uh, thanks,” Veronica replied. “I’m looking for someone called…Mistoffelees?”

“Well, you found him,” the man said, indicating himself. “But around here they call me Ben. Ben King.”

“Veronica Mars. Stanley Harrison hired me to find out what happened to his wife.”

Ben winced. “Oh, man. Talk about something that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I’ll bet,” Veronica said, raising an eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“I’ll you the same thing I told the police. I barely knew her. We met once before the party to rehearse the trick, and that was all. The only thing I can figure out is that she waited until the first part of the trick was done and ran; it wouldn’t have been hard to do. Besides,” he continued, “a woman like that? Probably took off with the pool boy or something.”

* * *

Veronica knocked on the Sharpes’ front door and waited, tapping her foot impatiently. Of course Bess and Colleen knew each other. They were probably members of all the same trophy wife clubs, where they sat around and discussed their latest plastic surgeries or their shiny credit cards or…something.

Plus, Colleen owed Veronica at least one favor.

The door finally swung open and a small brunette in a maid’s uniform smiled at Veronica. “Yes?”

“Is Mrs. Sharpe in?” Veronica asked politely, returning the smile. 

“The Missus is in the middle of her mid-morning exercise session,” the maid said. “If you’ll give me your name, I can tell her you were here.” Veronica raised an eyebrow at her British accent. Neptune’s elite were having help _imported_ now? 

“Tell Mrs. Sharpe that Veronica Mars is here to talk to her,” Veronica said firmly. “I think she’ll see me.”

“If you insist,” the maid replied primly. “Please wait here.” With that, she shut the door in Veronica’s face.

“Service with a smile,” Veronica muttered to herself.

A few minutes the door opened again, this time to reveal Colleen Sharpe, clad in a bright pink Juicy tracksuit with her curly blonde hair piled on top of her head. “Miss Mars,” she said, sugar sweet, “please, come in.”

Veronica stepped inside and Colleen pushed the door shut behind her before setting off across the foyer, babbling words back over her shoulder. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Organic, pulp-free orange juice? Or I can have Angie whip up some protein shakes!”

“Um, no thanks,” Veronica said with a grimace. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Colleen came to a dead stop and slowly tuned to face Veronica. “This isn’t about the incident you had your friends investigating, is it?” she asked, instantly losing the ditzy teenager act.

Veronica shook her head. “No, it’s not. I want to talk to you about Bess Harrison.”

“Poor Bess,” Colleen simpered, falling seamlessly back into her role. “Something like this was bound to happen someday.”

“What makes you say that?” Veronica asked.

“Bess is a sweetheart, don’t get me wrong. But she’s also kind of a….” Colleen bit her lip, as if searching for the right thing to say. “Well, she gets around, if you know what I mean.”

Colleen looked scandalized at the very idea and Veronica had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. Apparently, cheating was only okay if you got paid for it. 

“She was having affairs?” Veronica dug in her bag for a notebook and pen. “Can you give me names?”

Colleen shrugged. “Pick any rich man in Neptune and I’m sure he’d be on the list. Bess has never been very discriminating about these kinds of things.”

A tiny, frenzied beeping sound suddenly filled the room and Veronica flinched in surprise as Colleen checked the beeper attached to her waistband. “Oh dear, I have to go. I have an appointment with a nutritionist in half an hour. John is afraid that I’m gaining weight in my arms.”

“Of course,” Veronica said tightly, suppressing a full-body shudder.

“Angie, would you please show Miss Mars out?” Colleen said, giving Veronica a perky little finger wave before disappearing up the stair case.

“If you want to know what happened to Mrs. Harrison,” Angie said as she walked Veronica to the front door. “I would suggest you ask her staff. We see everything, you know.”

* * *

Veronica was unlocking her car when a big, black sedan pulled in behind her and John Sharpe got out of the driver’s seat. Yeah, just what she needed.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Veronica Mars,” John smarmed, crossing his arms over his chest and leering at her. “And what brings you here? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong again?”

“You know me, just one of those pesky kids,” Veronica returned, as lightly as possible considering the way her skin was crawling under his gaze. “If you’ll excuse me, the Mystery Machine and I have somewhere to be.”

“Stanley Harrison told me you were investigating his wife’s disappearance,” John said, ignoring her. First Aaron, now John. It looked like old Stan was friends with every creepy asshole in Neptune. Lovely.

John tilted his head in consideration. “I’d be careful, Veronica. It seems like a lot of girls are going missing these days. You wouldn’t want to be next.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Veronica muttered. She pulled open the door to the Le Baron and slid in as fast as possible. She didn’t think there was enough hot water in the world to get that man’s oily presence off her skin.

* * *

Veronica reached for her phone as soon as she pulled out of the Sharpes’ driveway and, before she even realized what she was doing; she had dialed Logan’s number and hit the call button.

It rang twice before she came to her senses and slammed it closed. After that morning, well, she didn’t really know what to say to Logan. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she had, and it wasn’t like she had the best track record at fixing these kinds of things.

With a sigh, she tossed her phone into the passenger seat and turned in the direction of the Harrison house. Case first, personal problems second.

* * *

It turned out that the Harrisons had two maids, a butler, and a cook - none of whom knew anything. Running a check on Bess’ credit cards and bank accounts hadn’t turned up anything, either.

Great. Maybe it was time to start questioning every millionaire in Neptune; there was no way that could get her _less_ information. Hell, she might even throw in all the pool boys, too. Just for good measure.

On her way back to her car, though, Veronica spotted a man in a uniform standing in the middle of the Harrisons’ front yard, scowling down at a wheelbarrow full of unplanted shrubbery. He looked to be in his mid-20s and, from what Veronica could see, working outdoors agreed with him rather well.

Maybe not a _pool boy_ this time.

Veronica set out across the yard, sidestepping piles of newly dug earth, until she reached the spot where the man was standing. “Excuse me,” she said, “are you Mr. Harrison’s gardener?”

“Landscaper,” the man replied absently. “What do you want?”

“I work for Mars Investigations, Mr. Harrison hired us to find his wife. Did you know her very well?”

He tore his eyes away from the bushes and squinted down at Veronica. “A little, she’s the one who hired me. She said she was tired of nothing but a yard full of grass.”

“Did you have any other interaction with her?” Veronica asked. “Outside of the landscaping?”

“If you’re asking if I was sleeping with her,” he said. “The answer is no. Let’s just say she doesn’t have the right kind of equipment for me.”

Of course, the hot ones were so often gay. She’d had her moments of doubt about Logan, too, when he was spouting off lyrics from Broadway musicals, complete with jazz hands.

“Well, is there anything _else_ you can tell me? Anyone you noticed her talking to? Any suspicious activities?”

“Actually,” he said, his forehead creasing in thought. “I have seen her talking to that magician several times. It seemed like every time I showed up he was here, rehearsing for her party. Maybe _he’s_ the one you should be questioning.”

It seemed like another visit to Old Crap R Us was in order.

* * *

“You lied to me,” Veronica announced as she pushed through the antique shop’s front door. 

Ben looked up, startled, from his inspection of a piece of bright yellow Fiestaware. “What are you talking about?”

“Bess Harrison,” Veronica said, irritated. “You said you met with her once, but someone on her staff said the two of you met several times, at length. Supposedly, you were rehearsing for the party. But according to Google, the trick you used Bess for shouldn’t have taken any practice at all. As long as your assistants knew what to do, the person in the box just had to follow their directions. So,” she finished, crossing her arms over her chest, “do you want to try telling the truth now?”

Ben snorted. “Why? So you can run back and tell Stan everything? I don’t think so.”

“Look,” Veronica said, “I just want to find out what happened to Bess. Are you sleeping with her? Is the plan for you to divert suspicion so the two of you can run off and live happily ever after? If that’s the case, I can see why you wouldn’t want to me to tell Mr. Harrison that you stole his pretty young wife right out from under him.”

Ben set down the bowl in his hand with a loud clatter, cutting Veronica off. “Bess is my big sister, okay? She kept telling me how lonely she was, and it’s easier to find work as a magician in California than in Ohio. So I moved to Neptune to be close to her. When I got here, she came to see me and brought these.” 

He disappeared briefly into a back room and came back holding a laptop. He opened it and set it on the nearest counter, motioning Veronica over to look at the screen.

He pulled up a picture and Veronica blinked at the monitor for a second, trying to figure out what was going on in the photograph. Then it hit her and she gasped, horrified.

A group of men, Stanley Harrison among them, standing around a table littered with cards and poker chips. A dark-haired woman was spread across the top of it: Bess. John Sharpe was standing between her legs, his pants around his knees, leering at the camera, and Veronica didn’t really need a diagram to tell her what was going on.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed, reaching out to steady herself against the counter as her stomach churned. 

“Yeah,” Ben muttered bitterly, slamming the laptop closed in disgust. “Stanley holds weekly poker games in his basement. The winner gets first go at Bess. If she refuses, Stanley makes her cut her thighs up with a razor while he watches. He takes pictures of that, too.”

“Why didn’t you show those to the police?” Veronica asked. “Even the Neptune Sheriff’s department would have had him arrested.”

“Bess didn’t want anyone to know. She was so humiliated by the whole thing; she just wanted to leave, to go home to our parents. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Ben looked at her, his face set in determination. “You can’t go to the Sheriff, either.”

“I won’t,” Veronica promised. “I’ll just tell Stanley that I couldn’t find any leads.”

Ben sighed in relief. “Thank you. Hey, do you maybe want a glass of water? You look a little pale. Not that I blame you, I think I threw up for twenty minutes straight after Bess showed me those pictures.”

“Water would be great,” Veronica said, forcing a smile. She waited until Ben had gone back into the other room before reaching for the laptop and flipping it open. She emailed the folder full of pictures to herself as quickly as possible and had just pushed the computer back across the counter when Ben returned with her water.

She had said she wouldn’t tell the Sheriff. She hadn’t said she wouldn’t tell anyone at all.

* * *

After the third ringing of the bell, Veronica resigned herself to the notion that Logan would not be answering his door. But it was only eight in the evening and his car was in the drive and she _really_ needed to talk to him. So she rounded the corner of the house, past a blooming bush of night jasmine that was trying hard to stay alive despite Logan’s apparent inattentions, and climbed the stairs of the worn wood deck that hugged the back of his house. 

A soft blue light spilled through the sliding doors. She had to cup a hand against the cold glass before she could make out Logan’s form sprawled across the couch. She doubted he was interested in buying the costume jewelry being hawked on TV since he was clearly sound asleep.

A few firm raps on the glass only resulted in Logan turning in his sleep. Veronica sighed and went to sit on the top step. She couldn’t help thinking about Bess and the pictures currently burning a hole straight through her laptop and the messenger bag at her side. You couldn’t even see her face in so many of them. She could have been anyone – any woman. Bess had been Stanley Harrison’s third wife. Veronica wouldn’t be surprised if he already had number four lined up.

Veronica yanked her laptop out of the bag and balanced it on her knees. She gave thanks to the gods of wireless as she logged onto her anonymous e-mail account and her fingers flew with rapid vengeance in punishing strokes against the keys. She trailed her finger along the touch pad as she scanned the finished document, letting the cursor hover over the big ‘send’ button. 

She had promised that she wouldn’t tell about Bess, wouldn’t give Stanley any way to track her down. But she simply could not let this guy go on as he had. She might not be able to save all the little girls, but this… this she could do. 

One click and the message, weighed down with countless horrid little attachments, was winging its way through cyberspace to the e-mail of Keith’s contact at the FBI. He would make sure it was taken care of. The sounds of the night returned slowly as the rush of Veronica’s blood slowed again to a normal rate. She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

“I take it you solved the case?” 

Veronica spun to find Logan leaning against the doorframe, scratching at the trail of hair that ran up from his waistband, before letting the shirt drop back into place and folding his arms.  
“Naturally!” Veronica cocked her head to one side with a forced grin. “But then, the case is as good as solved when you hire a Mars, you know that.”

“Of course,” Logan adopted her matter-of-fact tone but didn’t shift from his lazy position as she got to her feet. “Why I was telling Dick just today how you’re all about results. Determination, that’s Veronica, I was saying. Once she starts –”

“Okay! You can stop right there. And also, never commend me to Dick again.” Her words were softened with a genuine smile. 

They smiled at each other across the moonlit porch. 

“So…” Logan stepped out onto the deck and Veronica echoed his movement, waiting for him to continue, “What did happen to old Bessy?” 

Logan listened to the story in silence. Veronica caught a tight flicker in the muscles of his jaw when she showed him the pictures. He’d liked this Harrison guy and she wasn’t sure what he would say. 

“I hope you sent those to the FBI.” Logan spit out. “That bastard needs to be taken out and shot, but a couple of good soap droppings might help too.”

Veronica snorted out a laugh. “God, I love you.” 

The words were out before Veronica had even thought them and Logan’s eyes went wide with shock.  
“I mean… I…” Veronica sputtered as Logan stepped backwards into the house.

Veronica froze for a long moment, torn between running down the steps and back to the safety of her apartment, or staying and breaking the cycle of pushing her problems away until they got too big to fix. She took a deep breath and tried to meet Logan’s eyes, but he was starting to turn back to the house.

“I love you,” she repeated with simple conviction.

Logan didn’t say anything, and, for a minute, Veronica thought he was just going to walk away after all. But he took a step forward and then they were kissing, soft and perfect, with the sound of waves crashing in the background.


	18. Figure Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica struggles to define her relationship with Logan as she tracks down a missing statue. It becomes a game of Spy vs. Spy when Vinnie takes the same case. However, none of this prepares her for an unthinkable break in the case of the missing girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Disdainfullady  
> Her notes: _My apologies for the lateness of this chapter. Technical difficulties in the form of Time Warner's incompetant help service stranded me without internet for practically a whole day. No one has suffered as I have suffered. Thanks to mutinousmuse, truemyth, and kantayra for their invaluable beta assistance._

Veronica had decided long ago that there was a reason so many stories _ended_ with a kiss.

From a dramatic standpoint, it only made good sense. There was reconciliation, promise, hope, all in one sweeping cinematic gesture. It was glorious.

But what happened next? 

That was what she didn’t know. That was what she was afraid to ask.

She sighed and leaned forward on her elbows, closing her eyes against the ghost of his embrace. A kiss wasn’t a conclusion. If anything, it was a new beginning, a promise to try again. But it wasn’t an agreement that the past was forgotten. It didn’t mean the trust she’d broken was suddenly rebuilt. 

It didn’t mean he’d forgiven her. 

Her gut twisted as she remembered the look on his face when she’d blurted out what endless interior soliloquies had never managed to voice – he’d looked happy, sure, and like he’d wanted to believe her, but she’d seen the incredulity, the wariness, the doubt – and she was terribly afraid what she’d broken would never be fixed. 

She wished she had a guidebook for how to proceed, but no one had yet to produce anything that applied to her situation. Had no one else ever gotten back together with their best friend’s boyfriend turned personal nemesis turned secret flame turned self destructive jackass turned into the one guy they could maybe count on?

She frowned at the case file in front of her. She’d come to the office to escape her overwhelming and consistently panicky thoughts and instead found herself a nice opportunity to analyze everything she’d done wrong in further agonizing detail.

She wished he’d call.

A glance at the clock determined that it was only nine thirty in the morning. She still wished he’d call.

There had been a voicemail waiting for her when she’d woken up, and she didn’t think she’d ever been so disappointed to hear from Wallace before.

Yeah. She was probably obsessing.

Shaking her head at her own idiocy she sat up and shuffled a few papers in front of her for the look of the thing. Not that there was anyone to see. Her dad was out – wherever he’d been out lately. Bail jumper, cheating spouse, insurance fraud. Anywhere but here.

Another time and she’d probably be worrying about that, but apparently she could only handle one emotional crisis at a time and currently her mind was stuck on wondering what would happen next.

Maybe should call him.

With a moan she dropped her head on the desk, her forehead hitting the wood with a resounding smack.

“Is this a bad time?”

Veronica righted herself as quickly as possible, looking up to see an older man looking at her with kindly concern.  
“Not at all,” she managed, praying the flush rising on her cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “I’m Mr. Mars’ assistant, Veronica. How may I help you?”

“My name’s Anthony Bennett.” The man hesitated, but before he could continue, the door banged open, revealing a supercilious looking brunette.

She looked around disdainfully, her gaze sweeping past Veronica without pausing, as though she was simply part of the furniture, before alighting on Veronica’s visitor.

Clutching her purse tightly to herself, as though poverty, like germs, was catching thing, she leveled a glare of such intensity at the man that Veronica felt mildly relieved to have been deemed unimportant. “I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.” It was almost a hiss – if so well modulated a voice could be said to hiss.

The man, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his companion was a gorgon, simply clucked affectionately at her and told her she was being silly. Veronica wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a woman less capable of ridiculousness, and she had to admire the guy, who clearly had nerves of steel. That or a hell of a death wish.

Rolling her eyes in impatience, the woman stepped forward, glancing at the chairs provided – one of which her husband had already claimed - before ostentatiously choosing to remain standing. “Is Mr. Mars in? It’s a matter of extreme urgency.” 

A thousand different responses – most with some variation on ‘go to hell, lady’ – flickered through Veronica’s thoughts, but the earnest, apologetic expression on Mr. Bennett’s face stopped her.

“Mr. Mars is currently on a case,” she murmured, in her best professional tones. “If you like, I can take your information down now, and he’ll get to it as soon as possible.”

Not a muscle on the woman’s face twitched, yet her expression grew, if possible, even colder. “Anthony, I don’t think a child of her age is going to be able to be of any assistance.” She glared at Veronica. “If Mr. Mars actually cares about retaining clients, he might want to appear a bit more professional.”

Well, Veronica thought ruefully. That’s what I get for wearing my Hello Kitty T-shirt to the office.

“Nonsense, Helen. She’s not a child. I’m sure she’s entirely capable of taking down our information.” The man caught Veronica’s eye, his gaze bright and conspiratorial. Apparently, Veronica thought, he was used to handling his prize bitch of a wife.

Veronica studied the woman, daring her to contradict her husband’s assessment. No matter how nice this guy seemed, she’d suffered far too much from the matriarchs of Neptune society to willingly endure further difficulties on their behalf.

Helen, however, apparently had her limits. The corners of her mouth tightened, but she held her tongue. Veronica smiled.

“It’s like this, Miss…” he paused and looked at her politely. She sighed inwardly, knowing perfectly well that admitting she was Keith’s daughter was likely to make them even less sanguine about her skills. Damn his good manners.

“Just call me Veronica,” she urged cheerfully.

“Veronica.” Anthony leaned forward seriously. “We had a theft a few days ago.”

Veronica’s pen scratched on her legal pad and she looked up. “Not that we mind the business, but why didn’t you go to the police?” 

Helen snorted and muttered something Veronica was almost sure was about Lamb, but Anthony continued placidly, as if she hadn’t interrupted. “We’ve no wish to exacerbate the situation. A solitary statuette was stolen, and given the circumstances…”

“What circumstances?”

“The last time I saw the statue – it’s tiny really, but it belonged to my mother and I always rather liked the ugly thing – it was before a small party we were hosting for some friends of ours. They’re all excellent people, intimate friends really, and the last thing either of us wants is to accuse any of them of this.”

He passed forward a guest list and Veronica noted that they apparently had more than sixty intimate friends. This was going to be fun; she could tell. Glancing over the list she noted the occasional name she was familiar with, grinning as she recognized Tallulah’s name and then frowning when her eye settled on the name John Sharpe. Excellent people indeed.

Something occurred to her and Veronica frowned thoughtfully. “The last time you saw it? How long ago was this party?”

Off Anthony’s unsure glance, Helen interjected. “The party was a week and a half ago. We only realized it was missing this morning.” Her words were clipped, but her tone was marginally less frosty and Veronica wondered idly as to what had engendered the change.

“It sits in my study – and I’m afraid I’m not the most studious sort,” he grinned.

“Your study? Would the party-goers have had access to that part of the house?”

“Oh yes. It’s on the first floor, two doors down from the bathroom. They had only to look.”

“Did anyone else have an opportunity in the last week and a half?”

Anthony’s gaze tightened so that for the first time he seemed compatible with the aloof Helen. “Only the household staff,” he replied, looking askance at Veronica, “And I can assure you that they’re beyond reproach. Stuart Freidrich has been running my household for over twenty years. He’s remarkably loyal, and I trust him implicitly. He has hand-selected every member, and all of them have been with us at least three years. It wasn’t one of them.”

Freidrich. Oh right. Father of the drug dealing, sticky-fingered, entirely odious Sean. Veronica remembered the conversation she’d had with the Bennetts at the St. Johns’ costume party and wondered what exactly had happened since then that they were no longer worried about Sean.

“Mr. Freidrich has a son, right?” she asked carefully.

Anthony looked surprised – evidently he didn’t recognize her as the same girl that who had played Nancy to Logan’s Sid – but answered readily enough. “He does. Sean’s a bit of a difficult boy, but very bright. He’s spending the summer on a biology course in Mexico.”

Well. There went that thought.

“So you’re convinced one of your friend’s stole the piece?”

“We hardly want to believe any such thing,” Helen said, icily. “While I’m afraid Anthony does have a somewhat implacable opinion on the matter of our help, we’re both entirely aware that crimes of this nature are more likely to be committed by _that_ sort of person.”

Veronica kept her eyes on her paper until she was sure that she could control her expression.

“Okay, so aside from your guests and your household of twenty, would anyone else have had an opportunity?”

After a moment’s thoughtful consideration, both were obliged to answer in the negative. Although whether it was true that no one had actually had the opportunity, or simply that whoever else with the chance was similarly deemed incapable, Veronica was uncertain. She just loved it when clients thought they knew the job better than she did.

She glanced once more over her rather barren page of notes, when it occurred to her to wonder why that particular sculpture had been stolen.

“That’s just it,” came the reply. “We don’t know. The statue is worthless.”

* * *

Veronica pulled up outside Clarke’s, a tiny art dealer that did surprisingly good business, thanks in large part to the ever present decorating needs of the 09er district. Every spring haled a crop of freshly remodeled rooms, all lacking only an original work or two to give them that final touch. The lives of the rich and shallow.

Just because the Bennetts were under the impression that the statue had no particular retail value didn’t mean that someone hadn’t discovered otherwise. In her experience, people rarely stole worthless things. If it disappeared, it had value to somebody.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the necessary accessories, slipping on a pink corduroy blazer and rectangular looking wire rimmed glasses. She gave herself a final once-over, adjusting the glasses in her rearview mirror. 

Showtime.

Pushing through the heavy swinging glass doors, she found herself blinking in the amber hued light of Clarke’s waiting room. It was more suggestive of a hotel lobby than an art dealer's, and she got the distinct impression that the few pieces she did see on display had been selected more for their ability to coordinate with cherry colored paneling than their actual value. She loved this town.

Spotting an immaculate looking gentleman behind the front desk, she made her way forward, letting her expression settle into one of anxiety and eager hopefulness.

It was several moments before the man, James, according to his nametag, actually acknowledged her, but when he did, his expression was gentle enough. “Can I help you?”

Veronica let out a nervous giggle. “God, I hope so.” Leaning forward she began to babble her tale confidingly. She was the latest assistant of Andre Jan – he knew Andre right? – everyone knew Andre – and she was going to be the latest fired assistant unless she could get a hold of this sculpture or one remarkably like it. But she didn’t even know the artist.

She pulled out the picture the Bennetts had provided. It wasn’t the greatest shot, but the abstract sculpture that might have been either a supine female figure or an intertwined couple was relatively clear.

At the sight of the picture the man’s face tightened, and he regarded her angrily. “As I have already informed the other gentlemen only moments ago, I cannot help you.” He regarded the picture derisively. “Perhaps you should try an internet auction.”

“Other gentleman?” Veronica frowned. “Someone else was asking about this same statue?”

James regarded her coolly before nodding at a figure currently making his way to the front from Clarke’s tiny gallery. Veronica’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“Vinnie.”

Vinnie turned toward her at the sound of his name, breaking off his flurried conversation with the associate who’d apparently been doing her best to get him out of the store.

“Miss Mars.” He beamed. “Ever the pleasure.” Veronica winced at what she severely hoped wasn’t supposed to be a British accent. “I’m afraid my business is such that I can’t stay at the moment,” he said, glancing at the increasingly irate young woman next to him, “But it’s charming to see you. Cheerio.” 

He made what could only be considered a bow in the direction of the two women before beelining his way out of the dealer’s.

Veronica frowned and turned back to her friend at the front desk.

“That man was asking about the sculpture in this photo? Was he trying to sell it?”

James’s expression was glacial, but he eventually answered in a clipped tone of voice. “No, he was not trying to sell it. Like you he was seeking to obtain it. Like you, he tried to claim an association with a reputable designer. And like you, I told him we could not help him. I’m not sure what sort of scheme this is, but whatever the circumstances, I trust you will have the courtesy to do so elsewhere and not embroil Clarke’s in the situation.”

Veronica sighed and made a split second decision. Leaning forward apologetically, she began in a much more frank tone of voice, “Okay, here’s the deal, I’m sorry about that thing before. I just thought you’d be more likely to help me if I was – you know, what? That’s not the issue right? The thing is, my friend,” she hesitated only slightly over the word, “And I have a bet going about that sculpture. He found it in a flea market a few weeks ago, and he thinks it’s like some lost work of Michaelangelo or something. I tried to tell him it looked like junk, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Congratulations. I’d say you’ve won. That… piece would probably only go for thirty or forty dollars at an auction. Even if you found a private collector interested in the piece for its minimal aesthetic value, I doubt you could get more than eighty for it.” He smiled slightly and raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “The dangers of mass production, you know.”

Veronica frowned in consternation, but nodded her thanks before making her way out the door.

* * *

“Veronica Mars.”

She smiled sweetly. “Vinnie Van Lowe.”

Vinnie straightened from where he’d been leaning against her car. “It’s Vincent, at the moment, actually,” he said, once again adopting his atrocious approximation of a British accent, before dropping it in favor of leering at her. “So what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

“Oh you know me, Vinnie. Places to go, people to see. Got to keep on keeping on. All that good stuff.”

He smirked. “So about that sculpture.”

“Is this a confession? Hang on; just give me a sec to get this on tape.”

“Not so lucky, I’m afraid,” Vinnie countered, spreading his arms in a gesture of innocence. “Seems you and me, we’ve got a little competition on our hands.” 

“Really.” Veronica cocked her head at him. “How’s that work?”

“A statue with a dark past. A ruggedly handsome detective and a young woman with a secret. Murder, intrigue. Oh wait. That’s the Maltese Falcon.”

Veronica sighed and thought longingly of escape. Unfortunately, Vinnie was still blocking her door.

“Basically what we’ve gout ourselves a little game of Spy vs. Spy. You and me, mano a mano.” He nodded at her. “Whoever gets the statue first gets the bonus.”

His words were starting to make sense in a way that made her long for his inane chatter. “You’re saying the Bennetts hired you too?”

He looked even more pleased with himself. “Hey, they gotta go to the best.”

“Well of course. And yet… they hired you too?” She shook her head in mock puzzlement.

“I’m wounded, Veronica. I thought you and me, you know, we had a connection going.”

“That’s called revulsion, Vinnie.”

“Well then.” He shook his head. “I guess we’ll have to let the best man win. And, well, seeing as I’m the only man involved…” he trailed off smugly before making his way to a nearby car. “Be seeing you, Mars.”

“Thanks for the warning,” she called before climbing into her trusty LeBaron, only to find herself looking faced with an empty gas tank and stalled transmission. She looked up furiously, in time to see Vinnie wave at her as he pulled out of his slot.

Oh it was so _on_.

* * *

The phone rang from somewhere beside him and Logan looked up from the pitched battle on his screen.

He’d been playing the bloodiest games in his collection more or less constantly for going on six hours now – since waking at an obscene hour in the morning – in an attempt to not obsess about the situation with a certain blonde detective. The last thing he needed was to be _that_ guy. The fact that his heart had practically stopped each time his phone rang probably meant he was losing that battle, but he was damned if he was going to admit it.

An agonized scream from the screen informed him that he wasn’t just losing in his attempts at not being pathetic, and he threw the controller down with a sigh of disgust before reaching for the phone with mild trepidation. Even though he knew it was probably just Dick. Again.

But a glance at the caller ID confirmed otherwise, and man he was such a freaking girl.

“Hello?”

She was calling him to take it back. To plead temporary insanity. To accuse him of manipulating the situation in order to encourage said temporary insanity.

“Logan?” Her voice was soft and nervous and the part of him that had spent the last fourteen hours freaking out managed to calm down.

“Hey,” he returned, letting the smile creep into his voice. “What’s up?”

“Well, at the risk of bringing up some bad associations,” she murmured, “But I kinda need a favor.” She paused for a moment, before expounding breathlessly on the situation. Explaining about the case and her car and how she was sorry, she didn’t mean to call him like _this_ , but she didn’t know what to do. “I’m not trying to… I know you think I took advantage of our relationship before, but I’m not. I just need you here,” she concluded.

For a moment he was silent as he marveled at the fact that she’d admitted a need for him. He could get used to this.

“Logan?” she asked, hesitantly. And man was it weird to hear Veronica Mars be hesitant.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

* * *

Logan was frowning slightly at the edifice in front of him – Tallulah Godfrey’s vacation home – and Veronica sighed apologetically as she turned to him.

“I have to go in. If Tallulah was there, she might be able to give me an idea of people’s movements. It’s my only lead at the moment. I’ve got at least sixty-three suspects and my clients aren’t exactly the most helpful of people.” His expression didn’t lighten and she inwardly chastised herself for forcing him to take her to see someone he hated.

She was certainly doing an excellent job at winning his trust back.

She continued, somewhat flustered. “You don’t – you don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I mean, I appreciate the ride, but I can just call a cab when I go. If you don’t – if you want to leave.” Her hand fluttered over his arm before drawing back.

“It’s okay, Veronica,” he said gently, and when he faced her his gaze was warm enough that she was pretty sure her stomach had dropped out of her body somewhere. “I get it.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m-“

His lips closed over hers, swallowing any objections – and probably any willpower – she might have had left.

“I. Get. It,” he said when he broke away, and she allowed herself to relax against his touch as he smoothed back the disarray he had made of her hair. “And I don’t mind staying, but I should probably wait outside. At least, if you want a cooperative witness.”

She grinned somewhat lopsidedly. “Probably better to have someone keep an eye on the car anyway. I’d hate to see that brand new tank of gas get siphoned away like the last one. You’re sure?”

He rolled his eyes. “Go. Detect.” 

She had a feeling he still wasn’t actually comfortable, but she could hardly do anything but go now or risk upsetting the situation further. Making her way up the walkway she wondered idly when her life had gotten so damn complicated.

* * *

“I’m doubt I can help you, Veronica.” Tallulah made her way through the supremely modern – almost sterile – home that was certainly a shift from the stifling aura of opulence most 09er homes offered. And yet that cube-like couch was almost certainly a designer piece and Veronica had seen a twin of that silver vase in a magazine going for close to nine hundred dollars.

“I was there, I’d only just gotten back into town, actually. But trying to pick one petty criminal out of that crowd?” She laughed at the surprised expression on Veronica’s face. “Yes, I know. I don’t sound like much of a friend do I? For the most part, they’re dear people. But that world,” she paused as she tried to struggle for the right words, “It’s a small world. It’s crowded and nosy and everyone knows everyone’s business. It’s hard to live there. Especially for the women.”

She took one of the angular chairs while gesturing for Veronica to claim the other.

“You’re young, so you probably don’t understand. But these women are under constant pressure to be perfect – any faux pas could lead to divorce and the loss of everything they’ve got left.” She smiled bitterly. “That’s what happens when wives are traded in as easily as cars.”

She paused and appeared to come to a decision before standing and making her way to a small table standing in the corner, all the while continuing her explanation.

“It’s hard to live with that sort of pressure. So they seek freedom in any way they can get it – drink, drugs, tennis instructors. Pussy is hardly the only one to have reconstructed herself to a terrifying degree.” She crossed over to Veronica and handed her a photo album, pointing at the bottom left-hand corner. “That’s me.”

Veronica blinked at figure in the photograph. The woman had a different nose, cheek structure, even her jawline looked subtly different. Only the eyes were the eyes of the same woman.

Tallulah shrugged. “It’s easy to hate yourself in that world. And I did. For a long time I hated myself.” She frowned at some remnant of memory before shrugging her beautiful shoulders. “So I don’t know what to tell you. Everyone had access to the area. The upstairs was closed off because they’re redecorating, but we had the free run of the ground floor. And honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if half these women had kleptomaniacal urges.”

Veronica decided that was probably her cue to leave. She stood, discouraged, and rather horribly depressed.

“Veronica?”

She turned back.

“The only thing I can think is that you might want to try Misty Pluncheon. From what I’ve heard, there was an incident at a party last year.”

Veronica nodded and made her way back out the front.

* * *

She returned to the car almost in a haze and she returned Logan’s awkwardly affectionate greeting with interest, practically crawling into his lap as she intensified their embrace. Lips moved over each other frenziedly, and her arms made their way from his shoulders to his hair as she let herself fall into him.

When she finally pulled away they were both breathing hard, and Logan’s eyes were dark with a hunger that shocked through her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He looked confused, but didn’t press her for an explanation, which was good because she wasn’t sure she could offer one. She didn’t know how to explain the sickness that had settled in her stomach at Tallulah’s casual enumeration of the emptiness of her friends’ lives. The recognition she’d felt as she’d described the fear of being traded in, dropped the instant she’d done anything wrong.

She’d lived that. She’d had it with Duncan. He’d had an idea of her and she’d – she would have destroyed herself trying to live up to it. And he never would have realized. She folded herself against Logan’s chest, trying to calm herself, and she felt his hands stroke through her hair.

When they’d been like that for ten minutes she pulled away. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were bright as she looked at him, and she wasn’t sure she had to.

He smiled back at her, squeezing her hand softly before moving to put the car in gear. They were pulling out when he spoke again.

“Your arch nemesis stopped by, by the way.”

And she laughed. If she needed any more reassurance it was there in the casual way he said that.

“You’re gonna have to narrow that down for me.”

He nodded at her as he maneuvered the vehicle back onto the road. “Black hair. Members only jacket?”

“Oh, _that_ arch nemesis. What’d he want?”

“To chat. Yeah, we had quite the conversation. About how hot you are, what a troublemaker, how the ones that are dynamite always are and what it really requires is a firm hand.”

“Logan.”

“I believe he also suggested spankings,” Logan mused. She slapped his arm and he grinned at her. “How’d it go in there?” He was leaning back in his seat, his fingers idly twirling a pen as he grinned at her. 

Veronica frowned.

Her eyes narrowed, she grabbed for the pen and read the side, rolling her eyes as she noted that Vinnie still couldn’t resist leaving his name behind. 

She continued carefully, “It was pretty depressing actually, but I think I’ve got a lead. We need to check out Misty Pluncheon. And can someone tell me why all these women have names that would be more appropriate for puppies?”

She pulled out her phone and entered a text, talking breezily the whole time. She had a couple more things to do, but this was nearly cracked.

Logan grinned in acknowledgment of her message, even as he suggested that from now on he should call her Fluffy.

* * *

“You ready?” Veronica asked as they parked in front of Clarke’s.

Logan’s mouth quirked, and he just barely kept from wiggling his eyebrows at her. “You know me; I was born ready.”

A minute later and he was sauntering through the front door playing the part of the spendthrift trust fund baby to the hilt.

Veronica grinned as she watched Logan perform. He was effortless in the role, and she’d have to make a note of that for future reference. He wasn’t just acting the part of the demanding customer, he was living it, and it was masterful. He was drawing attention so effortlessly and so completely that it would never occur to anyone to look elsewhere. Which was where she came in. Or at least, it was where she would come in if she could stop staring at him long enough to do her job.

A few quick text messages the Bennetts, and a prolonged back and forth with Mac later, and she’d had all the information she needed. That James Clarke had in fact been hired to help redesign the Bennett’s entire second floor and had been in and out of the house a hundred times in the past two weeks. That the “worthless” statuette was actually a piece by Henry Moore and was worth a small fortune. And that someone at Clarke’s had put messages out to major collectors about an amazing find.

Now all she had to do was take advantage of the opportunity Logan was giving her and find the damn thing.

It didn’t take long to find the gallery’s storeroom – and the fact that it was the only piece in the area someone had bothered to cover with a drapecloth made the search process all the easier. Ordinarily, this was where she’d be handing the reigns over to Deputy Sacks and enjoying the look on James’s face as he realized he’d been screwed, but the Bennetts were adamant about not involving the police, so she was going to have to steal it back herself. 

Which wasn’t nearly as satisfying, she’d have to say.

She secured the thing in the car before sending Logan the all clear, and then broke into a broad grin as another figure limped into view. Maybe it wasn’t that bad after all. 

Vinnie Van Lowe – looking a little worse for the wear, she’d have to say – glared back at her.

“What’s up Vinnie?”

“Harold Pluncheon. Not really a fan of anyone badmouthing his wife. Funny how you look fine though.”

Veronica shrugged sweetly. “Just lucky I guess. Oh, and Vinnie? You forgot your pen.”

* * *

Veronica frowned as she hefted the statuette – seriously was it made of lead? – out of the car, bumping her hip against the door before belatedly remembering she’d left her bag in the front seat. In the shuffle to attempt to catch the door, she nearly dropped the statue – and _did_ wind up banging it against the side of the car.

Something fell and she had to struggle not to drop it again. A panel in the statue’s base had opened and she found herself staring in horror. 

Pictures. Dozens of them. Her stomach churned even as some inwardly calm voice in the back of her mind was deciding that no one in Neptune should ever be allowed to take pictures again.

She’d thought the photos she’d seen of Harrison’s so called poker parties were bad. This was worse. Little girls, none of them looking older than thirteen, and some looking several years younger than that, undressing for the camera, carefully posed, even – Veronica shuddered in realization – touching themselves as they focused their wide eyed stares out at their photographer.

She was going to be sick.

One of the faces stuck out at her and she stared confusedly at the girl before she realized why. She’d seen those eyes before, a hundred times as she pored over the case files of the missing girls: Tracy Gonzalez.

Veronica wasn’t generally one to admit that a case had gotten beyond her, but the haunting eyes in that one shot were enough to make her realize the situation was far and away beyond what she’d imagined.

For one wild moment she wished her father were there before remembering that he was – once again – busy.

She gritted her teeth and came to a decision.

* * *

“Well, well, and to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Lamb leaned back in his chair, smirking, and she bit her lip.

“It’s about the missing girls,” Veronica managed, hoping for once he would just listen without being an asshole. She set the pictures on his desk with shaking hands. “I think I found some of them.”


	19. Pimp My Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vandalism at the Neptune Country Club’s annual charity drive plunges Veronica back into 09er society, but - hey - at least she and Logan are finally finding a good balance in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [sarah_p](http://sarah-p.livejournal.com/)  
> Her notes: _Big thanks go out to herowlness, afrocurl, and onastick for all the moral support, and herowlness, mutinousmuse, kantayra, and truemyth for their helpful suggestions._

“Oh, God.” Veronica looked across the expansive room and groaned. “You’re kidding me. Logan, this is going to take _forever_.”

He shrugged and headed towards one of the many tables. “Then I guess we’d better start looking.”

Veronica sighed. “I still can’t believe Trina accidentally donated her diamond encrusted unicorn statue to the Country Club’s annual charity drive. Actually,” she paused. “I can’t even believe Trina _had_ a diamond encrusted unicorn. It’s just not natural.”

“Right. Because unicorns themselves are so normal.”

“Shut up.” Veronica stopped in front of one of the tables and eyed the various bins of toys in front of her. “We could just tell her that we couldn’t find it. I mean, why was she donating anyway? Trina’s barely in Neptune any more.” She snorted. “Then again, why are any of these people donating? I have the strange feeling that Neptune’s elite don’t really care very much for the lesser citizens of our fine town. Maybe it absolves some of their guilt for being so stuck-up?”

“I don’t think – ”

“Or, the auction is held during the big gala tomorrow, right? Any excuse to dress up and go to a party, even if it does mean pretending to care about the poor for one day out of the year. Good times.”

Logan frowned. “They’re not all that bad. It’s just…habit, I guess. Mom was really big on the drive and the auction. She volunteered every year. It meant a lot to her.”

“Oh.” Veronica bit her lip. “Sorry. I didn’t realize – ”

“What, that Lynn Echolls was a humanitarian? Don’t worry, she wasn’t. It was more for her than for the charity. It got her out of the house and away from my dad for a while, so she was happy, and having such a _conscientious_ wife made him look good, so it was win-win.” Looking away from Veronica, Logan fumbled awkwardly with the bag he was carrying.

“Wait…you brought something to donate?”

Logan shrugged. “Yeah. When I went through the stuff my mom had in storage, I found some old toys. I’m not using them – I figured I’d get rid of them.”

Veronica watched as he drew a few battle-worn G.I. Joe action figures from his bag.

“Logan…You’re donating those? You loved them. And…hey!” She pulled a plastic commando out of his hand. "Your limited edition Snake Eyes from the Valor Versus Venom series? You’re getting rid of him? He’s your _favorite_.”

He gave her a strange look. “I can’t believe you remember that. And he _was_ my favorite. I haven’t played with these things in years, Veronica. Why the sudden attachment?”

She looked a little embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just … Snake Eyes. Do you remember?”

“Remember … ?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Sixth grade. Duncan was out sick, and you two and Dick had planned your ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny against John and Luke. They wouldn’t let you forfeit, and – ”

“We needed a strategic advisor.” He smiled fondly at the memory. “I practically had to _drag_ you away from your lunch table.”

“Umm, hello? Did you not know anything about me? I conducted all of my important business at lunch.”

“Riiight. Because your and Shelley’s My Little Pony play-date was vital.”

“Exactly. But I helped you out in the end, didn’t I?”

Logan snorted. “I had to beg for it.” In a whiny, childish voice, he pouted at Veronica. “ _Ver-onica. If you were really my friend, you’d help. Pleeeease?_ ”

She sighed. “I was so easy back then.”

He shook his head sadly. “Those were the days.”

“Logan!” She smacked him on the arm. “Perv. At least I was good at my job.”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Eww. As your strategic advisor. I do believe your and Dick’s siege of the basketball court was successful, thank you very much.”

“Yeah. But then there was that whole part where Dick got sent to the principal's office that kind of took some of the fun out the victory.”

“Oh, Dick.” She shook her head sadly. “He was the weak link even then. My plan was foolproof.”

“He dumped an entire bottle of ketchup on Luke’s head.”

“Idiot.”

“You _told_ him to!”

“He wasn’t supposed to get caught! Besides,” she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “It was only a suggestion. I was serving solely in an advisory capacity. Figures you’d still blame me.”

The two of them stared at each other intently for a moment. Veronica cracked a smile first, and Logan broke immediately thereafter. Surreptitiously, he snagged the figure from the donation pile he had set it on and thrust it back into his bag.

“Changed your mind? Don’t get sentimental on me now,” Veronica laughed.

“No,” Logan scoffed. “I just thought that your ponies might need a little protection sometime. Unless you’re planning on donating them, of course.”

Veronica’s eyes grew wide. “Are you kidding me? Until Dad breaks down and buys me an actual pony, they’re as close as I’m getting. They’re staying.”

Logan pressed a quick kiss to Veronica’s forehead and dropped the rest of his toys into the collection bin. “Okay. Now can we find Trina’s unicorn and get out of this place?”

Nodding, Veronica began sifting through one of the many tubs of toys. As the two of them worked quietly together, a group of women walking through the room paused behind them, deep in conversation.

“Can you believe it?” one woman whispered. “The nerve of them, to run off to Napa and then try to donate something for the auction like nothing happened. I say we just send it back.”

“I know,” another chimed in. “Really. Celeste prances around here for all these years like she owns the place, just because Jake Kane is her husband, and...well, look at what happened with those children of theirs. What does it say about us if we condone that kind of behavior?” On her companion’s raised eyebrow, she amended her statement. “Publicly, of course. The Kanes have no place in Neptune any more, and if Celeste is going to try to outdo all of us and be the face of the auction, then – ”

“But they won’t!” A third woman piped up. “Did you see what John and Suzie Enbom donated? Jake Kane can start giving away shares of his company, for all I care. He’s not going to be able to outdo them this year.”

“Really?” The first woman looked intrigued. “Surely it can’t be better than last year. The private jet ride to Paris?”

“That’s _nothing_. I was just in the store room, and I saw it. They donated a gorgeous BMW. Brand new, to the highest bidder. We’re going to double last year’s results, I guarantee it. It retails for over $139,000! To spend that kind of money for…you know. _These_ people.”

As the women moved on, Logan and Veronica studiously continued to sort through the toys.

“I’m ready to consider this a lost cause,” Logan offered, chucking an errant Care Bear back into a bin. “Trina’ll just have to get over the loss. You ready to – ”

“The police are on their way!” A breathless woman, who Veronica quickly recognized as Professor Nora Harding, entered the room. “We’ve been vandalized!”

The group of women who had been discussing the auction approached her. 

“What?"

"Nora, what happened?”

“It’s the car. I just went to catalogue the rest of the items. I only left for a few minutes, but when I got back, it was destroyed. The windows are broken, and someone smashed the doors in. It’s a mess. The auction is _tomorrow_. We’ll never be able to have it repaired in time, or find a replacement. Think of all the money the shelter could have made!”

The women crowded around Nora, clucking their sympathy and outrage. Nora suddenly stepped away from them and pointed at Veronica. “You.”

“Me?” Veronica pointed at her own chest. “Look, I was in here the whole time, there are witnesses, yadda yadda…”

“No,” Nora shook her head. “I know you didn’t do it. I mean – you’re the girl Tyler Wilson hired, right? That found out I – ” she paused. “Anyway, the sheriff is on his way, but I was wondering if you could look into this. We need to find out what happened as quickly as possible, and…”

“You think the local representatives of justice might be just a little _too_ blind?” Veronica smiled sunnily.

Nora nodded. “Something like that. We’ll pay you, of course, and you’ll have full access to the grounds to conduct your investigation.”

Veronica looked at Logan, and he shrugged. Rolling her eyes at his lack of assistance, she turned back to Nora. “Sure, I’ll take the case. Can you tell me where you were before it happened?”

* * *

“Veronica Mars.” Don Lamb strolled in, fingers threaded through his belt loops. “Glad to see you found a more suitable use of your time.” He threw a smirking nod at the Cabbage Patch doll she still held in her hands before taking in the assembled group. “Who’s in charge here?”

“I am.” Nora stepped forward. “And this young lady has nothing to do with what happened. We can talk over here.” She motioned Lamb towards the door.

“Sure thing.” As Nora walked away, Lamb winked at Veronica. “It’ll be nice to see what a _real_ crime looks like, won’t it?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Veronica bit out. “I handed you that case on a platter. What more could you ask for? A personal statement from those girls? You can’t just ignore it because you don’t feel like doing any work. I swear to God, if you don’t – ”

Faking a yawn, he grinned. “If I don’t what? I think you’ve forgotten who’s in charge in this town, Veronica. Getting what’s probably falsified evidence from someone who is _notorious_ for making up crimes really doesn’t make me want to open a new investigation.”

“You _bastard_ ,” Veronica hissed, as she felt Logan’s arm reach out and gently hold her back. “You saw those pictures. Every minute you don't do something, those girls are suffering even more. What, does that get you off or something?”

Lamb shrugged and began walking backwards in the direction Nora had headed off in. 

“Look, Veronica. I’m the sheriff. I’ve had enough of you gumshoeing around to last … well, forever. Why don’t you run along and play house with your boyfriend, and leave me to do my job, okay?” With a jaunty salute he was gone, leaving Veronica fuming.

“I can’t _believe_ him. Those pictures – ” Veronica’s breath caught in her throat. “Going to Lamb was stupid. We have to do something, Logan. We can’t just _leave_ this … ”

“Veronica.” Logan drew her into his arms and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “What can we do? Lamb’s got all of the pictures, and no one’s going to believe you if you go around accusing the richest people in town of … you know,” he finished with a shudder. 

Veronica snorted. “Please. You think I gave him the originals? We can go to someone else, or – ”

“Listen to yourself! This isn’t someone cheating on a test, Veronica. This is _dangerous_.” He lifted her head up to meet his gaze. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“But the longer – ”

“ _Promise_ , Veronica.” The worry on Logan’s face was palpable. 

Sighing, Veronica nodded grudgingly and allowed herself to be steered away from the donation tables. “Fine. But I’m going to figure something out.”

Logan nodded. “Okay. In the meantime, though, I think you have another case to work on.”

“Fine,” Veronica huffed. Glancing at Logan’s watch, she frowned. “Of course, I’m already late meeting my dad, and I have a ton of filing to do for him today. I guess I’ll have to get the statements from these wonderful ladies tomorrow.” Glancing to where the herd of women were currently fawning over Lamb, she rolled her eyes. “Lucky me.”

* * *

“Are you kidding me? I just need to get in for a few minutes.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but you’re not a member, and you’re not on the list.”

“I realize that, but, well, is Nora Harding around? She’s the one that asked me to come.”

“She’s out at the moment. Now, if you had something to donate … ” the man trailed off, his insincere smile brooking no argument. 

Veronica walked away from him and quickly pulled her cell phone out. Step one of investigating the vandalism at the Country Club: be allowed _in_ the Country Club.

“Logan? It’s me. Want to help me out with something, oh rich and privileged boyfriend of mine?”

* * *

“I can’t believe I gave up a day of hanging around and playing video games for this,” Logan grumbled. “Why do I need to be here again?”

“Um, because you have an all-access pass to rich 09erdom, and I need to ride your coattails?” Veronica countered, as the security guard checked Logan’s card and let them through the gate.

“Right. Can’t we ever go on a normal date?”

“Wait – what is this _normal_ of which you speak?”

Logan shook his head good-naturedly. “Never mind. What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to go talk to Nora and the other people who were around at the time the car was trashed. Do you think you can handle my good friend over there?” She motioned towards the guard.

“You know how much authority figures love me. Piece of cake.”

“Good. I’ll meet you back here soon.” Veronica leaned in for a kiss before darting into the building.

* * *

“I wasn’t here when it happened, of course, but I have a pretty good idea of what went on.” Suzie confided to Veronica. “Really, it all makes perfect sense. I just hope we get this all sorted out before tonight. My husband and I went to a lot of trouble to make this year’s auction perfect. Did you know he had that car custom made and flown in special from Germany? 

“You don’t say,” Veronica replied, attempting to humor the woman. “That’s really generous of you. I heard that this year, you and your husband have made the biggest donation to the auction. Why do you two – ”

“Oh, it’s _such_ a good cause,” Suzie gushed. “And I think it’s our job, as those who are blessed with being so fortunate, to give back to the community. John and I do everything we can.” 

Veronica did the best she could to refrain from gagging. “You said that you had a good idea of what happened? Who do you think did it?”

“Well, the only person who has access to the store room where we keep the items for the auction, other than the volunteers, is … ” Suzie leaned in conspiratorially before continuing with, “the janitor. He just _looks_ shifty. He’s so, so …”

“Poor?” Veronica offered.

“Yes. And _Hispanic_ ,” Suzie added with a frown. 

“But if he’s poor, why would he want to sabotage the auction? All of the proceeds from it go to the Neptune Homeless Shelter, right? Along with everything donated for the toy drive?”

“Well, yes, but I still know that he did it. They’re all the same.”

“Janitors are all the same?” Veronica deadpanned.

“The foreigners,” she clarified. “Coming in and acting like they own the place. This is America! They have no right to take what’s ours.”

Veronica closed her eyes and waited for a minute before she spoke. “So you’ve haven’t seen him anywhere he shouldn’t be, or heard him say anything incriminating. You just have a hunch?”

“Right. And, you know, he _is_ poor.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that. I thought that all of this – donating the car – was to _help_ the poor. You seem kind of – ”

Suzie shuddered, and glanced from left to right quickly before leaning in to whisper. “That’s the company line, of course, but I don’t like their kind. Too needy. They should just earn their share like everyone else.” She reached a hand up and patted down her hair. “It makes us look good to the public, though. Something about people liking people who do things for others. It’s ridiculous, but John and I have to keep up our good names, of course.”

“So you actually only donate to uphold your reputation, and not out of any feeling whatsoever towards the people that may benefit?” Veronica’s voice raised an octave. “Do I have that right?”

“Well, yes.”

“Right. Thanks for your help, Mrs. Enbom, and I’ll let you know when I find something out.” Standing up quickly, Veronica walked away from the woman, shaking her head.

She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised at the sentiment, even though some part of her had wanted to believe that there was some decency in Neptune’s elite. Veronica considered that idea scratched.

Spying Nora, Veronica waved the older woman down.

“Professor Harding?”

“Oh, Veronica, just the person I was looking for. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier to let you in, but I had to go give another statement at the station. Have you found anything?”

“Would it be possible for me to get a list of all of the volunteers, especially those who might have been around yesterday morning when the car was wrecked?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Is there anything else you need?”

Veronica pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Can I see the car?”

Nodding, Nora led Veronica through the building. “Security told us that there were no signs of a break-in, so it must have been someone who was already in the building. All our volunteers and members have access to this room though, so it could be any one of them. Still, I hate to think that one of them could have done this. We’re all here to _help_ people, and this is just so horrible. That car would have gone for more than a hundred thousand dollars, which would have been such a help to the shelter. Who would do such a terrible thing?”

“Clearly, you haven’t lived in Neptune for very long,” Veronica muttered.

“Here we are. If you stay here for a minute, I’ll run and get that list for you.”

“Thanks.”

As Nora left, Veronica made a slow circle of the room, her eyes widening at what she saw there: Jewelry, check. Designer clothing, check. Luxury German sports car, check. Was this a charity auction, or a trophy wife's wet dream?

“Rich people. They can’t just hand over a check. No, they have to make a spectacle even out of being humanitarians. Why am I not surprised?” Veronica shook her head as she spoke to herself.

She winced when she saw the condition the car was in. Not only were the windows shattered, and the body dented severely, but a thick coating of orange spray paint adorned the dark blue vehicle, and all of the tires were punctured.

“Isn’t it terrible?” Nora walked up to Veronica and handed her a piece of paper. “I just don’t understand. All of us here only want to help.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Look, Nora, I’ll go over this, and let you know what I find.”

“The auction is tonight, remember. Everyone who’s anyone is going to be here, and unless I have something to tell them, well, think of the press this is going to get! We’ve been running this event for eleven years, and done so much work to make the toy drive and auction work, and it’s all going to be ruined if word gets out that one of the volunteers did this. I know it was someone else.”

A cell phone trilled in the spacious room, and Veronica smiled apologetically at Nora. “Sorry, I have to take that.”

“I hope to hear something from you soon, Veronica.”

Stepping out into the hallway, Veronica grinned at the caller ID display and pulled out her phone. “Done harassing the locals? Meet me in the lobby in five, okay?”

* * *

“So?” Veronica looked at Logan earnestly. “Give me something I can use here. Security tapes? Anything?”

Logan shook his head. “There isn’t much to say. Roy told me that last week he caught some high school kid breaking into the pool to impress a girl or something. He handed all of the surveillance footage to the cops, and the system hasn’t been reset since.”

“Well, that explains why they didn’t just watch the security feed to find out who did it. Seriously, with all the money they have going on here?” Veronica’s eyes darted around the lavish furnishings. “They couldn’t just buy another blank tape or something?”

“It _is_ the end of the video age,” Logan offered thoughtfully. 

Veronica smacked him on the arm. “Focus. Nora gave me a list of all the volunteers who checked in yesterday and might have been here at the time the car was wrecked.”

“Yeah, but there were other people around, too. _We_ were around. Anyone who said they were donating something could have gotten in.”

“Right. Therein lies our problem. Not to mention – ”

“Logan! Man, what are you doing here?” John Enbom walked up and slapped his friend on the back. “Hey, Caz, look who’s here!”

“It's the Loganmeister! Good to see you, man,” Caz said with a grin. “Don’t tell me that you got roped into helping with this thing, too. What a drag.”

“Roped into helping with what?” Veronica jumped in.

“This charity thing. Hey, Veronica.” Enbom nodded in her direction. “Our moms are totally out to ruin our summer. Who wants to spend their time sorting through some crappy toys when we could be doing other, more interesting things?”

“Or doing lots of other, more interesting _people_ ,” Caz clarified.

“Of course. Bummer.” Veronica shared a small smile with Logan before she continued. “Did you guys hear about what happened to that car?”

Caz let out a low whistle. “It’s a fucking shame, is what it is. That thing was _awesome_. I can think of many a girl who would give it up in that backseat. Some people just suck.”

Enbom nodded. “My parents are pretty pissed. Dad’s saying he won't have anything to do with the auction again unless someone finds out who trashed the car.”

Veronica flipped through the list in her hand. “So you two have been around all week helping out? You’re listed as working yesterday. Did you see anything suspicious?”

Enbom shook his head. “I was surfing with Dick all yesterday morning. I didn’t even find out it happened until I met my mom here later. She was freaking out and stuff.”

“Caz?”

“I … ” He frowned. “I can’t remember what I was doing yesterday morning, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t here. Whoa.” He smiled at Veronica. “That’s weird.”

“So no clues at all to who might have done it?”

“You should check out that creepy janitor guy,” Caz offered. “He’s really … poor.”

“That seems to be the word on the street. The nicely paved street on the right side of town, I mean.” Veronica rolled her eyes. “Thanks, guys. If you see anything, or remember anything, let me know, okay?”

“Sure thing. We’ve got to go finish setting everything up for tonight. Call me, man, and we’ll hang out soon.” Enbom high-fived Logan, and he and Caz took off.

“Ahh, what promising young boys. Such humanitarians!” Veronica enthused.

Logan laughed. “You’re just spoiled. See how high I set the bar?”

“Mmmm.” Veronica’s words were muffled as Logan kissed her. “Absolutely. Okay, so the car is a BMW Z8. Do you know anything about those?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“Such as…?”

“It’s got a 394-horsepower V-8, handles hard turns well because of the aluminum suspension and chassis flex. The usual.” 

On Veronica’s raised eyebrow, he blanched. “What? It’s a hot car. I mean, not as hot as mine, but still. Besides, Enbom got one for graduation.”

“Really? What, do his parents have stock in the company or something?”

“Knowing that family, I wouldn’t be surprised. He’d been eyeing it for a while, so it made sense that they finally caved and bought it. He was kind of pissed, though, because he wanted it in blue, and his dad bought it in black. Enbom refused to drive it for a week, just on principle.”

“Oh, kids these days.” Veronica laughed. “Look, I’m going to track down this janitor and talk to him for a minute, then we can get out of here.”

“Works for me.”

“Oh, and Logan? What are you doing tonight?”

* * *

“Dad, stop. You’re scaring me.” Veronica eyed her father warily. “Remember, your only daughter? Going out with her boyfriend? You’re supposed to be cleaning your shotgun or something.”

“I know, but, honey, you look beautiful.” Keith smiled, full of fatherly pride. “Come to think of it, though, I don’t recall you getting invited to Neptune society’s event of the season. Party crashing?”

“Ehh,” Veronica tilted her head to one side. “More like criminal busting.”

“Ah. Right. Should have figured.” Keith squinted at his daughter carefully. “You’ll be careful?”

“It was only a little vandalism, Dad. No fuss, no muss. I’ll be fine.”

“And what time should I be expecting you back?”

A sharp knock on the door caused Veronica’s eyes to light up, and she turned and smiled at Keith. “You know what? Don’t wait up.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you spent all of this money on these tickets just so we can out a criminal. Now I’m really never getting that pony.” Veronica sighed wistfully.

“Aren’t you the one who made me bring you to this thing?” Logan quirked an eyebrow as he presented their tickets to the doorman. “And it’s for a good cause. Besides,” he smirked, “now you can ogle me in a tux all night long.”

Taking a moment to appraise the sight of the suit-clad Logan in front of her, Veronica finally nodded. “Ahh, how true. When did I get so soft?”

“It’s just my natural charisma. Really, you were powerless to resist.” He pulled her close and trailed a hand down her bare arm. “God, Veronica, you look beautiful.”

“Mmm, nice save.” Glancing around the ballroom, Veronica motioned to the bar. “Did you know Dick was going to be here?”

“No, but his parents usually dragged him along to this thing. Old habits, you know the rest.”

Veronica nodded as Dick approached them. “Hey, Dick. Getting the party started a little early I see,” she said, looking pointedly at his drink. “I mean, the party started, what, five minutes ago?”

“Jealous that I beat you to it?”

“Actually, I’d rather – ”

“Okay, kids, good to see we’re getting along so well.” Logan said loudly, clasping a hand over each of their shoulders. “How’s it going, Dick?”

“Same old, same old. I’m hoping to leave here tonight with a special lady friend, if you get my drift.” He pointed to a young woman in an impossibly tight dress across the room.

Veronica followed his gesture. “Dick? I don’t think it’s that kind of auction.”

“Please. _Pay_ for a date? I’m still Dick Casablancas. You see this?” Dick spread his arms out to accentuate his body. “Look, but don’t touch. I spent all morning yesterday getting this new tux fitted. It was a pain, but it’ll all be worth it in the end. It’s guaranteed to be a hit with the ladies, and I’m just waiting to pick that special someone.”

Eyes widening, Veronica looked at Dick strangely.

“Veronica? You okay?” Logan squeezed her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to find Professor Harding. I know who ruined the car.”

“Wait a second,” Logan started, looking between his girlfriend and his best friend. “It wasn’t – Dick didn’t – Dick, man, you didn’t trash that car, did you?”

“What?” Dick frowned. “Dude, what the hell are you talking about? My car’s fine.”

“See?” Logan was earnest. “I know you don’t like Dick, but why is it always – ”

“It wasn’t Dick!” Veronica shouted, exasperated. “Dick actually _helped_ me figure out who did it, strangely enough.”

“Does that mean you want to go home with me tonight? We can ditch the rest of this shindig.” Dick looked hopeful.

“And, yeah, that’d be my _girlfriend_ you’re talking to.” Logan punched Dick on the arm.

“Oh. Right. I keep forgetting that you two are, like, an item again. Totally cool, dude. I didn’t mean it.” His eyes settled on Veronica’s breasts. “Much.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Let me get this taken care of. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Logan called at her retreating form. “If it wasn’t Dick, who did it?”

* * *

“Are you sure, Veronica?” Nora Harding looked across the crowded ballroom with a sigh.

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Well this certainly does put a damper on things,” Nora sighed. “I’ll go get Suzie and John.”

“I’ll be here.” Quirking a finger towards a man at the bar, Veronica leaned against the stage where the auction was going to begin shortly.

“Veronica?” John Enbom the younger approached her. “Don’t tell me that you want to dance or something.”

“God, no.” She shook her head. “I just needed to get you over here so I can explain to your parents what happened to the car they donated.”

“Oh.” John paused for a beat and did a double-take. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me, John. I know that you did it.”

John began fidgeting noticeably under Veronica’s hard stare. “I didn’t – I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you, I was surfing when it happened. Isn’t that, like, an alibi or something?”

“Well, under normal circumstances, yes,” she offered. “But when the person you claim to have been surfing with _all_ morning tells me about being stuck at the world’s longest suit fitting at the same time, I begin to have my doubts.”

“Who, Dick?” John stuttered nervously. “He just … came by later. Let me go talk to him, I know he’ll remember.”

“Yeah, not happening. And, oh, look, your parents are here.” Veronica smiled brightly and waved at the couple. “Hi, Mr. And Mrs. Enbom!”

“John, what is Nora talking about? She says that you had something to do with the car being destroyed?” Suzie Enbom wrung her hands together nervously. “Surely, there must be some mistake here. Our son would _never_ – ”

“This is an outrage!” John Enbom, Senior bellowed. “I demand an answer, and you stoop to accusing my son? This is the last you’ll see of our patronage of this event. Suzie, John, come on. We’re going home.”

“It was blue.” Veronica spoke quietly.

“What?” John Enbom the elder regarded her critically.

“The car you donated. It was blue.”

“Well, yes.”

“Your son wanted one of these cars for a while. And he wanted it in – ”

“Monaco. Blue. Metallic.” Enbom forced out. “And you _knew_ it. And you went with Black Sapphire Metallic anyway.”

“Son, I really don’t think – ”

“Then for this? For this stupid auction. You bought it. The same car. _My_ car. The one that I wanted. How could you do that? I got stuck with a crappy black one, and you buy the real deal to raise money for some people living in the barrio? How is that fair? I _deserved_ that car!”

“Oh, my goodness,” Nora looked between the three Enboms in surprise. “I guess it’s true, then.”

“John, in the car. _Now_ ,” his father ordered. “We’ll discuss this at home.”

“What, you don’t want people to know that you put this stupid charity above your own son? Or, wait.” Enbom put a finger to his chin, as if in thought. “I’m sorry. You value your article in _Forbes_ , right? The one they print every year after this auction, talking about what a swell guy you are. John Enbom, humanitarian, but only if the press will cover it! That’s why you’re so mad about the car, isn’t it? It’s not that I wrecked it. It’s that now, your donation doesn’t get to go to auction. Wow, that’s too bad, Dad.”

“That is _ENOUGH_ ,” the elder Enbom raged. “Suzie, get him out of here. Go!” Noticing, for the first time, that the argument had attracted quite the audience, he turned to Nora, still scowling. “Mrs. Enbom and I will certainly donate a check in the value of the car to the Homeless Shelter. We value our contributions to those less fortunate than ourselves. And,” his voice lowered, “if we can keep this little incident out of the papers, there might be something extra in there. Are we understood?”

Veronica backed away from the scene, happy to let Nora deal with the fallout, when she bumped into someone.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, turning around to see which 09er denizen of Neptune would be the next to add her to their black list. “Logan?”

“The one and only. Now that you’ve caused the requisite Mars scene, I was wondering if you’d care to – ”

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Veronica interrupted. “Look. Over there.” She motioned with her head.

“Who? Tallulah? She’s always at these things, Veronica. It’s what rich people do.” He frowned. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“But look who she’s talking to.” Veronica unsuccessfully tried to repress a shudder as she watched Anthony Bennett laugh in response to something Tallulah said. “That guy is seriously bad news. Logan, those _pictures_ he had...” She felt her body tremble as she looked away, just as Logan wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s okay, Veronica. We’ll get him soon. I promise.” His voice was fierce. 

“Veronica!” 

Veronica calmed the churning in her stomach long enough to turn back to where Tallulah had been speaking to Anthony Bennett moments before. "Hi, Tallulah."

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. You do seem to always have a knack for turning up just when something big is happening.”

“Just luck, I guess,” Veronica forced a smile. “Look, I know I shouldn’t – I saw you over there talking with – ”

“Tallulah.” The airy voice of Colleen Sharpe broke in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but John says that he needs to speak with you. Right away.”

“Of course.” Smiling apologetically at Logan and Veronica, she moved to leave with Colleen. “I have to excuse myself, but it was really nice seeing you. _Both_ of you.” With a wave, she was gone, leaving Logan and Veronica alone once again.

“I wonder what John wants to talk to her about. Somehow, I don’t think Tallulah is going to offer any helpful hints on how to best control his wife,” Veronica mused.

“Hey, you never know.” 

“Anyway.” Veronica laid her head gently on her boyfriend’s shoulder. “What does a girl have to do to get a dance around here?”

Unable to suppress his grin, Logan swept her up into his arms, and for the first time in a long time, Veronica spent a night in the company of 09er high society that was absolutely perfect.

* * *

“Right there,” Veronica gasped as Logan’s lips nipped at her neck. “God, yes.”

“Mmmm. Give me a second,” he unlocked the door and ushered Veronica in, then hurriedly dialed his phone and began speaking quietly.

“Logan? Who the hell are you calling?” Veronica’s hand snaked up the back of his shirt. “You’re going to miss all the fun.”

“Thanks, bye.” Logan snapped the phone shut and tossed it in the general direction of a chair. “I was just ordering us some dinner. I know you didn’t eat much at the party, and I’m _starving_ , and – ”

“And you’re thinking of food at a time like this?” Veronica pouted. “Way to crush my ego.”

“Now that that’s _done_ , though, we can get back to _this_.” Logan felt around at the back of Veronica’s dress and slowly lowered the zipper. “As long as this is okay.”

“Mmmm, more than okay.” Veronica made short work of Logan’s jacket and tie, and the two toppled helplessly over the side of the couch. “What is it about formal wear that –Logan!” She gasped as his hand worked his way down to one of her breasts.

“Fuck, Veronica,” Logan bit out, as his lips sought hers again. He shifted on the couch so their bodies were pressed together, Veronica straddling him. They continued to kiss frantically, their hands becoming more and more daring, and Veronica’s hand was inches away from his – 

“Was that the doorbell?” Veronica asked, breathless, stilling her hand.

Logan groaned in frustration. “No. It was nothing. Really. Where were we?”

“No, Logan. Hold on.” Veronica wiggled on top of Logan in attempt to stand up, and he closed his eyes and bit his lip. “I think that’s the pizza. Zip me up.”

“Just leave it. I’ll call tomorrow and pay them double for it.”

“Actually, you were right. I’m pretty hungry. Come on.”

Logan grudgingly zipped up the dress, remaining sprawled out on the couch as Veronica bounded to the door.

“Here’s your nice steaming Cho’s pizza. That’ll be thirteen – Veronica! Hey!” Corny grinned at her from the doorway. “I didn’t know you lived out here.”

“She doesn’t.” Logan ran a hand through his thoroughly-tousled hair and reached for his wallet. “I do. How much?”

“That’s, like, totally weird,” Corny continued, ignoring Logan entirely. “I was just going to call you, and you’re here. Whoa.” He nodded to himself for a moment. “I need help. Pie’s free, though.”

Elbowing his way past Logan and into the house, Corny deposited the pizza on a table and stared at the couple. “It’s totally okay. This is my last delivery of the night, I can stay.” Sprawling in a chair, he opened the pizza box and withdrew a slice. “You’ll never believe what happened,” he proclaimed, his mouth full of pizza.

Veronica looked on, obviously amused, and moved to take some pizza of her own. “Logan? You coming?”

Logan sighed deeply. “Not for a while, it seems.” He shook his head and frowned. “Let me get some plates.”


	20. Who's Your Daddy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paternity questions abound when both Corny and Dick need Veronica's help.
> 
> Keith and Veronica finally talk about their cases, and a horrible truth is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [ladyanne04](http://ladyanne04.livejournal.com/) and [sarah_p](http://sarah-p.livejournal.com/)  
> Their notes: _Big thanks go out to mutinousmuse, rindee, and truemyth for their helpful suggestions._

“It’s totally uncool. I mean, they said they’re going to sue.” Corny turned to Veronica, his easy-going demeanor sliding into concern. “We don’t have that kind of money. Not to mention they’re lying.”

Veronica tilted her head and regarded him carefully. “So, let me get this straight. The Ulrichs are dog breeders. Your parents own the PetMart downtown, and sometimes do business with them. Now there’s trouble?”

Corny nodded. “The Ulrichs breed, like, totally expensive show dogs. Bitchin’ freezes? The ones that look like cotton balls?” 

“Bitchin’ freezes?” Veronica asked, confused.

“I think he means Bichon Frises,” Logan murmured.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Corny nodded. “Bitchin’ freezes. Anyway, Mr. and Mrs. Ulrich work with my parents a lot, for supplies and stuff. Since they’re a big client, my dad sometimes makes house calls for them.”

“Right. And you said when he goes over there, he takes your dog? And that’s why they’re suing you?” Veronica looked even more confused. “Corny, that makes no sense, even for you.”

Logan laughed heartily, and Corny shot him a scathing look. “Dude, this is no laughing matter.” Turning back to Veronica, he continued. “The Ulrichs called my parents and told them that they’ve had complaints from some of their buyers. The last batch of puppies they sold weren’t pure bred or something, and people are pissed and want to sue them for false sales. The Ulrichs claim only one other dog has ever been near their super dogs, so my dog must have knocked up one of theirs. Which means when the other people sue them, they want to sue us for polluting their dogs.” He shook his head. “It’s so messed up. Muffin would totally never do that. He’s not a slut or anything.”

“Dude. You named your dog _Muffin_ , and this is the biggest of your problems?” Logan mused. “I’d look into that.”

“He’s named Muffin because he’s totally soft and tasty-looking on the outside, but a killer on the inside.”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that.” Logan blinked.

“So you need me to prove that another dog sullied their show dog’s bloodline, so they don’t take action?” Veronica shook her head. “That sounds so wrong. How does one go about giving doggy paternity tests?”

“I don’t know, but I _do_ know that it was some other dog. They’re just blaming us because we’re an easy target. That’s so... _wrong_ ,” Corny declared emphatically. “What about, like, our rights and stuff?”

“What kind of dog is Muffin?” Veronica asked.

“Well…I’d say Muffin is like a Cho’s Ultra Deluxe Pie.”

“Your dog is like a pizza?” Logan began scooting his chair away from Corny’s.

“Yeah.” Corny grinned. “He’s got a little bit of everything.”

Veronica nodded knowingly. “A mutt. That’s why the Ulrichs pegged him.”

Corny reached over the table to snag the last slice of pizza, but Logan, sensing it, moved a little faster, and pulled away, victorious. Shrugging innocently, he took a large bite. “Sorry,” he offered without the slightest hint of remorse.

“Anyway, can you help me out? We can’t afford to hire a lawyer, but if they win, or we have to pay a settlement or something, my parents would have to sell the business. That would totally suck. A lot.” Corny ran a hand through his unruly hair.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Veronica finished. “This might be kind of hard to prove.”

“But I know you can totally do it. That’s why I came to you!”

“You didn’t _come_ to her,” Logan shot back. “You just happened to be delivering a pizza to me, and there she was. That doesn’t count.”

“Whatever, man.” Corny stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’ll give you a call later, Veronica. Thanks. And you,” he pointed to Logan as he headed for the door, “need to lighten up. Total buzzkill, dude.”

“Hey!” Logan shot up in his chair. “I'm not the one who – ”

“Bye, Corny,” Veronica interjected quickly. “I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for the pizza.”

With a nod, Corny was out the door, and Logan sighed.

“Well, tonight didn’t end _quite_ how I planned,” he muttered.

“Oh, really?” Veronica batted her eyelashes at him and moved to settle in his lap. “You had specific plans? Do tell.”

“Actually,” Logan grinned at her. “Now that we are, indeed, alone again, said plans might be able to resume. Thoughts?” He leaned over to kiss her soundly. 

The shrill ring of her cell phone permeated the room, and Veronica sighed and pushed Logan away. “And that would be my dad. Can I take a rain check?” She hoisted herself off of Logan’s lap and grabbed for the phone.

“Fuck,” Logan swore softly as Veronica laid a light kiss on his lips and picked her bag up, all the while trying to placate her father over the phoneline. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Ahh, but if we want you to have all of your limbs attached come morning, I need to get home. Now.” Veronica raised an eyebrow and Logan slowly nodded, so she made her way out the door. 

“Yeah, Dad, I was on my way when you called. No – of course I wasn’t going to stay – yeah. Fine. Bye.”

* * *

Veronica knocked on the door, smiling when it opened to reveal a sleep-tousled Logan, peering at her with bleary eyes as he struggled to pull a t-shirt over his head. 

"Morning, sunshine," she said, waggling a bag of baked goods from the Hut under his nose before reaching up to place a kiss on his lips. "And you won't be needing this," she pulled at the fabric he had halfway on.

He promptly pulled the shirt back over his head and tossed it over his shoulder as he kissed her back and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them as he pressed her against the solid wood and dropped kisses down the soft skin of her throat. 

“Best.” Kiss. “Wake-up.” Kiss. “Call.” Kiss. “Ever.”

She enjoyed the feel of his lips for one more minute, then nudged him away. “Let’s take this someplace more comfortable.” Taking the drink caddy she dangled before him, he trailed after her as she headed into the kitchen.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit, Ms. Mars?” he asked, as she deposited her bag on the counter and motioned for him to do the same with the coffee.

“Well, we were rather rudely interrupted last night, and I just thought we had some unfinished business to attend to,” she replied as he leaned in, his arms bracketing her on either side of the counter.

“Far be it from me to leave business unfinished,” he replied, as he picked her up and sat her on the counter, bringing their faces level as her lips found his. 

Breakfast was soon forgotten as her shirt disappeared in response to Logan's complaint that she was overdressed.

“Logan?” she managed to gasp out as his tongue traced a pattern down her stomach. “Bedroom?”

“I thought you’d never –”

A pounding on the glass door that led out to the deck overlooking the beach startled them both, and Veronica squeaked as she wiggled out of his arms and, dragging him with her, slid down behind the cabinets separating the open kitchen from the living room.

“Tell me that’s not my father? Please?” she whispered frantically as she scrambled across the tile looking for her shirt that had apparently ended up on the other side of the kitchen. 

Logan stared at her. “Why would your father be here?” he hissed.

“Because I’m his only daughter and he knows when I think impure thoughts?” Veronica hissed back. “And I had a lot of them last night.”

Logan grinned. “Really?”

She pulled off one of her flip-flops and tossed it at him. “Logan. Now. Is. Not. The. Time.”

“Logan, dude, you in there?”

Veronica buried her face in her hands. “Tell me it’s _not_ Dick.”

“Uhhh,” Logan managed, before the pounding reverberated again.

“Logan, it’s Dick. Man, I need to talk to you, pronto.” 

Veronica groaned and threw her other flip-flop at Logan. “Make him go away. Now.”

Logan smirked. “You going to keep losing your clothes?” She growled and he laughed, crawling over to give her a quick kiss before pulling himself up. “Sit tight and stay right there. I’ll get rid of him.”

She sat behind the counter and listened as Logan hurried over to the door and opened it.

“Hey man, it’s kind of early and –”

“Dude, I need your help. Actually, I need your girlfriend’s help,” Dick interrupted. 

“Sure, Dick, let me call her and –” Logan replied.

“Are those muffins?” Dick broke in.

“Whoa, Dick, man, no, stop –”

Veronica realized with horror that not only was Dick coming in, but he was also headed straight toward the kitchen. She frantically felt around for her shirt and managed to jerk it in front of her chest just as Dick stopped at the counter. “Veronica?” 

Logan stopped short behind him, cringing at the death glare she threw his way.

“Good morning, Dick. Turn around. Now.” Veronica commanded.

Logan grabbed his shoulders and assisted. “Yeah. Now.”

She threw her shirt on and stood up, smoothing her hair back and glaring at Logan again before signaling for him to turn Dick around. “All right. What’s going on, Dick? What do you need?”

Dick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crumpled letter. “I need you to work your magic and prove this chick is crazy.”

Veronica took the letter and scanned the text before looking up at Dick in disbelief. “Oh, Dick. No glove, no love. How hard is that, really?”

Logan grabbed the letter and read over it. “You’re a dad?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s an imminent sign of the apocalypse,” Veronica muttered.

“Dude, I am not a father. She’s flipped,” Dick responded, pacing back and forth. “And I need you to make it go away.”

Veronica sighed. “And I’m guessing that you’re not going to unless I do, so let’s talk. C’mon.”

They settled in the living room and Veronica rummaged through her bag, pulling out her notepad. “Alright, Dick. Who’s this Sally and why is she claiming she’s got a Dick Jr. running around?”

Dick sighed. “Sally’s this chick –”

Veronica snapped her fingers. “Unless Sally’s a miracle of modern science, the whole ‘having a baby’ thing gave that away. Cut to the chase.”

“Jeez, Ronnie, remind me not to get between you and your Logan time.” At her look, he frowned and blew out a breath. “Whoa, touchy subject, sorry.”

“Details, Dick,” Logan reminded him. “Where’d you meet her?”

“A couple of years ago, that summer before junior year. Dad had this company picnic thing at the country club and Sally was there.”

“Did she work for Casablancas Enterprises?” Veronica asked.

“Yeah. She was, like, a secretary or something. Anyway, she was smokin’ hot and all about some Dick,” he nodded, as he ran his hand down his chest.

Veronica rolled her eyes. “How old is Sally, Dick?”

Dick shrugged. “Maybe twenty-five, twenty-six. Everything was still perky though, if you know what I mean.”

Veronica continued in a strangled voice as she ignored Dick’s eyebrow waggle at Logan. 

“So you slept with her?” 

“Sure. Who am I to deny the love?” Dick shrugged. “But I suited up.”

“You’re sure?” Veronica asked. “Were you drinking?”

Dick peered at the ceiling, frowning. “Well, yeah, I was drinking, it was a party. But I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, there’s something solid I can work with,” Veronica muttered.

“So what happened, man?” Logan asked.

“She showed up at the house a while later, all big and waddling and swearing I was the father,” Dick replied.

“And demanding money?” Veronica asked.

“Yep. Said she wouldn’t bother us anymore if we paid her off. Dad took care of it, and I kind of forgot about it.”

Veronica sighed. “Just like that? You didn’t get a paternity test or anything?”

Dick shook his head. “Dad said it was easier not to, just pay her off, and she’d go away. She quit working for him, took the money and disappeared.”

“And you didn’t care that maybe you had a child out there?” Veronica asked.

Dick laughed. “Do I look like Duncan Kane? ‘Sides, I knew it probably wasn’t mine. But now she’s back and wants more money. I can’t keep shelling out cash to some golddigger.”

Veronica regarded him carefully for a moment, and then glanced at Logan. “Alright. I’ll look into it. It’ll be a thousand bucks for a starting retainer, plus expenses. And don’t even think about quibbling on the price.”

“Will do.” Dick nodded to Logan. “You want to surf today, man?”

Logan glanced at Veronica. “I’m going to pass. I think I’ve got some business to finish.”

Dick shrugged. “Dude, you should totally hire someone to do that stuff. But whatever, I’ll call you. Thanks again, Veronica. You’re a peach.”

Dick ambled out, the door shutting behind him, and Logan slid closer to her on the couch. “Now, where were we?”

“On our way to the office,” Veronica replied, evading his grasp and pulling him to his feet instead. “We’ve got to get to work.” At his pout, she gave him a quick kiss and pushed him down the hallway towards his bedroom to get dressed. “But afterwards, that business? Will get finished.”

He turned around when he was halfway down the hall. “Wait a minute, did you say we?”

She nodded. “If I’m investigating Dick, you’re my expert.”

“Your Dick expert?” Logan smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “You had to go there, didn’t you? Now get ready.”

* * *

Veronica settled in behind the desk and flipped open the lid of her laptop as Logan lounged on the couch. She pulled out the crumpled letter Dick had left with her. “Okay, let’s see what we can find out about Sally Stroud.” She cracked her fingers and began typing away in the database.

“Looks like she lives in San Diego now, has just the one kid. Hmmm, pricey car, upscale address, exclusive day care. It’s no wonder she needs a little more from Daddy Dick.”

“That is so creepy,” Logan interjected. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“Let me search through the legal filings,” she continued, her fingers dancing across the keys. “Now this is interesting . . . a Jamie McCartney seems to have been a rather big part of Sally’s life right before the summer she worked at Casablancas Enterprises. He might be worth taking a look at.”

She read some more. “Charming lad. Just released from the pen six months ago for fraud and embezzlement.”

“You think he and Sally are birds of a feather?” Logan asked.

“Well, they do flock together,” Veronica replied. “And it looks like Jamie still lives right here in good old Neptune, smack in the middle of the ‘02 zip code. Same apartment as the one he and Sally leased together.”

The front door opened and they both turned as Keith Mars entered, briefcase in hand. “Veronica, Logan,” he greeted. “How are you?”

“Good, Dad. Working on a couple of cases. One for a paying client even,” Veronica answered. 

Her father made his way over and glanced at the phone messages. “That’s my girl,” he replied in a distracted manner. He pulled one out and headed towards his office. “Honey, I’ve got to return a few messages, can you hold my calls and stall my eleven o'clock for a few minutes if I’m not done?” 

“Sure, Dad,” Veronica said. She waited until the door closed and flipped through the messages, trying to figure out which one he had taken. 

“Should I leave?” asked Logan.

“Ahh, caught the frostiness, did you?” Veronica asked. “No, don’t worry about it. He’s just been really out of it lately, especially after his trips to Fresno. He hasn’t been all that forthcoming about what’s going on.”

“Did you tell him about the pictures?” Logan asked. 

“Yeah, I did. He thinks for now we should wait and see if Lamb does anything,” she shrugged. 

“Maybe he’s trying to protect you,” Logan ventured softly. 

“Maybe,” Veronica agreed, unconvinced. She moved to sit beside him. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better about it, though.” She leaned in to give him a quick kiss as the door opened again. 

Wallace strode in and promptly covered his eyes. “Mars, I told you I did _not_ need to see that.” 

Veronica pulled back with a low growl that made Logan chuckle. “Later, bobcat.”

“Bobcat?” she mouthed at him, with an eyebrow raised. 

He smirked back. “The growl’s cute.”

“Oh, really?” she drawled.

“Really.” 

Wallace looked from one to the other and cleared his throat. “Hey, Wallace. Thanks for coming all the way over here from Hearst to help me out. Not like you have anything better to do, noooo. Of course not.”

Veronica stood up. “Hey, Wallace. Want to earn a little cash?”

“Hell, yeah,” Wallace replied. “Why’d you think I drove all the way here?”

“Excellent, because I can’t offer you any. But I’ll owe you big time.” 

“I’m keeping a list, Veronica. Don’t be thinking I’m not. All right. What do you need?” Wallace asked.

Veronica rubbed her hands together. “You’re going undercover into the sordid and sex-filled world of . . . “

“Strippers? It’s strippers, isn’t it?” Wallace nodded to Logan with a grin.

“Dog breeding,” Veronica finished. 

“Dog breeding?” Wallace deadpanned. 

Veronica gave him her best pout. “You’re just so good at looking all innocent and believable, Wallace. You make the best potential puppy owner.”

“Fine, fine, I’m there. But you really are gonna owe me one for this.”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

“That’ll be right out,” Veronica assured the customer, marking down their order on her notepad. Her shift load at Java the Hut had been diminishing exponentially as the summer wore on and other things came up, but not even she could say no to a time-and-a-half emergency shift. Corny’s offer to compensate her in pizza and a 15% discount at PetMart wasn’t exactly going to pay the bills.

Of course, if one were to ask her later, she would assure them that she took the hours purely for case-related reasons. Spotting a familiar fixture at the Hut across the room, Veronica took a deep breath and steeled herself. It was time to get the Ulrichs’ side of the story.

One godawful rendition of _More Than A Feeling_ (that she was pretty sure people were hearing _in_ Boston) later, Veronica approached the man as he descended from the stage.

“Lars? Can I talk to you for a minute? I’ll throw in a latte on the house.”

Throwing a glance to a brunette across the room who seemed to be preoccupied with every man who _wasn’t_ him, Lars nodded. “Sure, but it has to be fast. I promised my girl another song.”

“Um, right. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your adoring public.” Veronica managed to grimace only slightly. Leading them to a table in the back, she motioned for Lars to take a seat. “I actually wanted to ask you about your parents’ business. I heard they breed dogs?”

Lars frowned. “Wow, that’s not what I was expecting, Veronica. I thought you were going to ask me out.” He paused for a moment, as if allowing her the opportunity to corroborate the statement. 

Veronica said nothing. 

“Not that it would have mattered, of course, since I’m in a pretty serious relationship right now.” His eyes once again flitted to the same girl, who was now flirting shamelessly with another guy. “Anyway, yeah, they breed dogs. Why do you ask?”

“I heard there have been some . . . problems lately. About you guys selling dogs that aren’t purebred. I was hired to - ”

“Hired?” Lars’ head jerked up quickly. “By who? The people who’re suing us? I swear, Veronica, my parents had no idea. We were as surprised as anyone when people started calling us about this.”

“So you didn’t know when you sold the dogs that they were…compromised in any way?”

He shook his head. “It’s really hard to tell when the dogs are young. We sell most of the puppies before they’re even born, based on the parents’ bloodlines and stuff. They stay with the mothers long enough to wean, but we send them off before a lot of the distinguishing characteristics are developed.”

“ _Did_ your parents sell dogs that weren’t purebred, or do you think these people are making this up?”

Lars frowned. “We couldn’t believe it at first, and we assumed it was just our competitors getting some people to screw with us. Our neighbors breed show dogs too, you know.”

“Huh. What are the chances that the two breeders in Neptune would be located right next to each other?”

“Well, Mr. Johnson and my Dad used to share the business, until they had a falling out a while back. They split the company, and neither of us wanted to relocate, so we’re kind of stuck with each other,” Lars explained.

“Has he had any complaints? I don’t really know how this dog purity thing works. Couldn’t one of his dogs have accidentally gotten into your yard or something?”

“There haven’t been any problems that we know of. And all of his dogs are purebred, too, same breed as ours, so if one of his _had_ gotten over, it shouldn’t have been a problem. The litter of puppies had markings that none of our dogs, or the Johnsons' dogs, have.”

“That’s why you assumed it was Corny’s dog?” Veronica asked.

Lars looked alarmed. “How’d you know - ” 

“I never said _who_ hired me. But it seems to me that it’s in everyone’s best interest here to find out what really happened, right? Whether or not it was Corny’s dog? If your parents know what happened, they can make sure it doesn’t happen again, and try to appease their buyers, and Corny’s family doesn’t have to worry about a lawsuit.”

“Veronica, I know they don’t want to believe it, but that’s the only explanation. That dog of theirs is the only other dog that’s been around.”

Veronica sighed. “Then I’d at least like to be able to prove it. Corny’s a friend of mine, you know?”

Nodding, Lars looked at Veronica earnestly. “I get that, really. And he seems like such a cool, laid-back guy. I mean, I don’t know if he can _sing_ , but I get the attraction.”

Veronica blinked. “Wow. Yeah. Um…okay. Anyway, you said your parents went and checked out these dogs to make sure the buyers weren’t lying. Did they take pictures?”

“Of course.”

“Is there anyway you can get me copies?” Veronica turned her brightest smile onto the boy. “It would _really_ help my investigation.”

“I don’t know . . . ”

“I can get you an advance copy of the new karaoke song list.”

“Done.” Lars spoke before Veronica had even finished her sentence. “I can drop them off tonight.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Lars. You’d better get back to your girlfriend now.” She looked over to where the girl was now apparently leaving with a guy who was decidedly not Lars. “I think she’s ready for that second song.”

“Right. A little Richard Marx should change her tune.”

Backing away from the table slowly, Veronica hurried back to the counter with five minutes of her break left to spare.

* * *

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let me drive my car,” Logan whined as he pulled the LeBaron into the parking lot of the Trident Apartments. 

“We’re undercover. And you’re the driver. You don’t get the flashy car for that job,” Veronica reminded him.

“So this is the place, huh?” Logan peered out through the windshield at the run-down complex. “I’m not sure you should be going in there alone. I’m having some River Styx flashbacks.”

“It’s fine. You can see the door from here, and I’m not planning on going in. If I’m not back in a few minutes, come up and get me, okay?” Veronica flipped down the visor mirror and touched up her lip gloss. She caught Logan’s glance. “You catch more flies with honey.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not good at sharing,” he reminded her.

“Don’t I know it,” she replied as she opened her purse and fished out her faux engagement ring, sliding it on her finger. “Look how much you love me,” she simpered, dropping a kiss on his lips. “Wish me luck.”

She slipped out of the car and, on her super-high heels, teetered up the stairs to the second floor balcony of the gray apartments, stopping before number 255. She knocked firmly and waited until the door swung open.

“Yeah?” the guy asked. He was in his late twenties, cute in a scruffy, construction worker sort of way. 

Veronica stuck out her hand. “Hi, you’re Jamie, right?”

He looked her up and down, taking in her short skirt and tight top. “I am. And who are you, gorgeous?”

She gave a small giggle. “I’m Cassie. Cassie Sumter? Oh, my gosh, you mean Sally never mentioned me?”

Jamie’s face darkened. “Sally doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Oh, I know, I’m just trying to find her address so I can invite her to my wedding.” Veronica flashed her ring in Jamie’s face. “I lost Sally’s address off the last Christmas card she sent me, and you’re the only person in Neptune I could think of who might know it,” Veronica gushed. 

Jamie shook his head and started to close the door when Veronica stepped forward, wobbling a little as she grabbed his arm.

“It would mean so much. I know she’s in San Diego now. She sent me some pictures of her and that cute baby boy of hers. And that gorgeous house she’s living in?” Veronica fanned herself. “Boy, I’d almost be willing to get knocked up by some rich guy for a place like that. Swanky. Of course, my fiancée would kill me.”

Jamie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Veronica feigned confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t you know? I guess that must have been after you guys broke up, right? Kind of a rebound thing. But she’s taken care of, totally loaded now. Wait, I have the pictures here somewhere.” She pawed through her purse, stumbling slightly and crashing in to him as she gave a little yelp. “Ouch! I think I twisted my ankle a little.”

He held her as she tried to right herself and remove the heel, slipping again and grapping his belt to steady herself as she finally slid the offending shoe off. “I am _so_ sorry. Thanks for helping me. Anyway, do you have her number?”

Jamie shook his head, his eyes narrowing as she stepped back. “No, I don’t. What was your name again?”

“Cassie. We worked together at Casablancas Enterprises.”

“Right.” Jamie moved to shut the door again. “Sorry, Cassie, can’t help you.”

“Okay, thanks anyway,” she replied. She turned and headed back down the stairs and slid back into the car. “I wonder how long it’ll take him to bite.”

Within minutes Jamie was rushing down the stairs and to a rust-heap of a Chrysler that had seen better days. He pulled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. 

“Looks like we’re taking a little road trip.” She pulled out her laptop. “Now let’s see what kind of reception I can get from that bug I planted in his pocket.”

She fiddled with the receiver. After a few minutes of crackling, Jamie’s voice came through, distant but clear. “Diane, I need to see her. It’s important. Of course I still love your baby girl, you know that.”

There was a moment of silence as Diane likely responded, then Jamie continued. “I couldn’t believe she was gone when I got back from Alaska. Thank you so much, you’re the best.”

The sound of the phone clicking signaled the end of the conversation as Jamie muttered to himself. “That slut. Thinks she can pull a con like that and cut me out? I don’t think so.”

Logan laughed as he glanced over. “Looks like you’ve got your happy face on.”

Veronica smiled. “It’s nice when a hunch pays off.”

They followed the car at a distance on the highway until Jamie exited into one of the suburbs of San Diego and threaded his way through the streets to the exclusive community where Sally rented a home. Veronica motioned for Logan to stop and pull over on the opposite side of the road as she took out her camera and focused on the irate woman who was trying to shut the door in Jamie’s face, before finally jerking him inside.

“Turn the volume up,” she hissed and Logan reached over to the laptop and complied.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in prison,” Sally snarled.

“According to your mother, I’ve been in Alaska working on an oil pipeline,” he replied.

“Well, I couldn’t tell her you were going to prison. It would have broken her heart. She liked you for some reason.”

“It’s ‘cause I’m a charmer,” Jamie replied. “Now, Sally, baby, how about you spill as to where all this is coming from? You find yourself a rich baby daddy? Cause you and I both know that you were already pregnant when they sent me up.”

“I had to do something,” Sally responded angrily. “It wasn’t like you were going to help, and I barely made enough to pay the rent at that receptionist job.”

“Sure, sure,” Jamie replied. “But here’s the deal, Sally. You’re going to cut me in, and it’ll be just like old times.”

“But Jamie . . .”

“Or I’m going to find out what blind old man you’ve got the wool pulled over, and let your little secret slip.”

Veronica looked at Logan. “I think we can safely tell Dick that a demand for a paternity test will send this ‘chick’ flying.”

“Congratulations, Veronica, you have stopped the apocalypse,” Logan intoned. “You have uncovered proof that Dick is without spawn.

“It’s not quite over,” she replied. “There’s still those bitchin’ freezes to take care of, and I’ve got a stakeout to get to.”

* * *

Wallace shook his head and slid down the length of the fence until he was seated on the ground. “How do I let you talk me into these things again?”

“What?” Veronica asked, her face the picture of innocence. “Are you kidding? In the grand scheme of random things I’ve made you do, this doesn’t even rate a five.”

He thought for a moment. “True. But do I have to remind you that we’re staking out a _dog_? This is the pinnacle of lame. Some night, I’m actually going to have plans, and then you’ll be hurting.”

She laughed. “Hey, it’s your own fault. If you hadn’t proven your dog expertise, I wouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“Stupid Catahoula Leopard dog,” Wallace grumbled. 

“Anyway, if all goes well, we shouldn’t be here for too long. When you came here yesterday as a potential buyer, they said that their prize dog was in heat now, right?”

“Yeah. I think I’m also buying two of the puppies. I hope this paycheck is gonna cover it.”

She smacked him on the arm. “Nice work, Fennel. Now all we need to do is stick around and watch what happens.”

“Yeah, but Corny’s dog won’t be anywhere near here today. What if _nothing_ happens?”

“Then we know it’s probably his dog,” Veronica frowned. “But it just doesn’t fit. His Dad spent about ten minutes here each time he came, and from what you found out, more than one dog had tainted puppies. I’m no expert on dog sexcapades - ”

“Thank _God_ ,” Wallace interjected.

Lightly slapping him again, she continued. “It just doesn’t seem likely that during a couple of ten minute visits, Corny’s dog managed to get out of the car, track down all of the females who were in heat, get into their pens, and then impregnate them. If he did do it, though, I think he deserves some kind of medal.”

“Hey, V, look.” Wallace nudged her shoulder and his voice dropped to a whisper. “What’s she doing?”

The two looked on as a little girl approached the pen. Trailing behind her was a small terrier. “Hi, doggy!” She bent down to peer in at the Ulrichs' bitch. “Grandpa said you were lonely, and that I should bring Thor over to play. Do you want to play?” The female dog began whining, and the girl moved to unlatch the gate. 

“What the hell is going on?” Wallace whispered.

“The markings on that girl’s dog. Would you say they look like the ones on the puppies in the pictures Lars gave me?”

He studied the animal for a moment. “Yeah. Those dark patches around the eyes, and the spots on its side are exactly the same.” 

Veronica smiled and stood up. “Well, then, I think we have our culprit. You stop her from letting her dog in there - I’ll go talk to the Ulrichs.”

“And then you’re going to explain everything to me, right?” A slightly bewildered Wallace asked, accepting Veronica’s hand as he got up.

“Don’t I always?”

* * *

Veronica sorted through the mail and stopped at the bold headline on the front page of the newspaper: **Girl Missing**. She glanced at the closed door of her father’s office and started to get up when the main door opened. She sat back down and tucked the paper to the side.

“Hey, Veronica. I got your message. So you caught the bad guy? Dog? Whatever?” Corny ambled into Mars Investigations, his eyes widening with every step he took. “Dude, this is, like, a real PI’s office and stuff.”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Veronica deadpanned. “That’s kind of the point. It hasn’t changed much since the last time you were here. Remember?”

“What?” Corny asked, distracted. “Seriously, this place is totally sweet. I’ll bet you get all kinds of crazy things going on in here. Like,” he took a seat in front of her desk, “probably some criminal mastermind sat in this chair before me, right? And, whoa. What’s that?” He reached forward and snatched something off of a stack of papers.

“That’s a stapler, Corny.”

“Awesome.” He nodded approvingly. “So you, like, brought me to justice and whatever?”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Something like that. It turns out that the neighbor was behind it all. Whenever his granddaughter came over to visit him, and he knew one of the Ulrich’s dogs was in heat, he sent her over with her dog so the two could... _play_ together.”

“That’s so twisted.”

“Twisted, but he almost succeeded in ruining the reputation of his biggest competition. Because the Ulrichs had never seen anything, they just assumed that the only mutt hanging around their dogs - ”

“Was Muffin,” Corny finished. “Even though I tried to tell them that he prefers simple girls. Those bitchin’ dogs are just trouble.”

“You said it.” Veronica offered him a smile. “Anyway, I explained this all to the Ulrichs, so your parents are off the hook. No lawsuits, no loss of big money customer.”

Corny let out a low whistle. “I don’t know how you do it, Veronica, but thanks again. That’s the second time you’ve saved my ass this summer. You should start charging for this.”

“Actually, I - ”

“Veronica?” Keith’s voice called from his office. “Did you make those copies I asked for?”

“Be right there, Dad!” She stood up behind the desk. “You’re welcome, Corny, but...do you think you can try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the summer? I’m pretty busy.”

He laughed and offered her a salute. “I’ll see what I can do. If you ever want to hang out or anything, just give me a call. And you should totally bring Logan along. I really like that dude.”

Off of Veronica’s raised eyebrow, Corny exited the office, leaving her to gather the papers Keith had requested.

The door opened again and Dick entered, Logan trailing behind. Before Veronica could move, Dick had crossed the office in a few bounds and pulled her into an enormous hug. She stiffened and flailed her arms at Logan, who watched, amused.

“Thanks, Veronica. You saved my ass,” Dick gave her another squeeze and then his hands drifted lower towards her own rear.

She growled and Dick backed away, hands in the air. “Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to bad touch.”

“So you told him?” she looked at Logan. 

“I did indeed. The lawyer’s already on it, ready to demand a paternity test,” Logan replied.

“Excellent. Now, groping thanks aside, pay up, Dick.”

Dick grumbled, but pulled out a checkbook. “Money well spent. I knew that chick was crazy.”

Veronica took the document he offered with a smile and folded the crisp paper. “Well, the next one might not be, so a little free advice: keep it in your pants, Dick.”

Keith exited his office and took in the group. “Having a party, dear?”

“Just wrapping things up with a satisfied customer,” Veronica replied. 

Logan moved Dick towards the door. “We’re actually just heading out, Mr. Mars. See you later, Veronica?”

“Sure, Logan. We still have that business to finish.”

“Indeed,” he smirked at her. “Let’s go, Dick.”

“Thanks again, Veronica. See you.”

“A moderately pleasant and grateful Dick Casablancas. Will wonders never cease?” Veronica mused as she followed her dad into his office. “I got together those files you asked me to pull.” 

“Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.” Keith flipped one open, clearly distracted.

“Dad?” She stopped in the doorway.

He looked up, catching the concern in her voice. “Is something the matter, Veronica?”

“Have you seen today’s paper?”

He shook his head. “No, why?”

Veronica laid the newsprint on his desk. “Another girl’s gone missing from Weevil’s neighborhood.” She ran her hand through her hair as she sat down in the chair by his desk. “We can’t just wait for Lamb, Dad. I gave him those pictures, and he did nothing, nothing at all. And this is the result. Another little girl is gone. There’s got to be something we can do. Some kind of lead we can follow.”

“Veronica –”

“What about that kidnapping case in Fresno?” Keith narrowed his eyes at her, but she pressed on. “I looked through some of your files since you wouldn’t tell me anything, and I saw the report and the clippings. Do you think it’s related?” 

“I guess I need to change the combination on the safe again,” Keith sighed. “Veronica, the business up in Fresno is bad stuff. Dangerous people, mob connections. I don’t want you getting involved with that.” 

He reached into his bag and pulled out a folder. “But the O’Connor kidnapping case, I don’t know. The girl kidnapped was younger, and for years, I thought that the primary suspect was dead, killed by the missing girl’s father. She was a young woman named Dina Clark, who had been abused as a child, and all the leads and information pointed to her being Leah’s kidnapper.”

“You said you _thought_ she was dead?” Veronica asked.

“I’m not so sure anymore. Frank. . .something happened that night, and I found Frank and the girl’s father at the suspect’s home. There wasn’t a body, but I think Frank took care of it.” He shook his head. “I let it go, because after what happened to that little girl, I couldn’t blame O’Connor or Frank.”

“So no connection?” Veronica asked.

He handed the file to her. “I don’t think so. Just another tragic case.”

Veronica opened the file and looked at the picture of Leah O’Connor, her face forever frozen in grainy black-and-white. She flipped to the mug shot of Dina Clark and then stopped cold. “Dad? I don’t think this is a dead end.”

Keith looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Veronica picked up the picture of Dina Clark and showed it to her father. “When I was working on the Bennett case, I went by and saw Tallulah Godfrey. We started talking about Colleen and plastic surgery and stuff, and she showed me an old photo of her before she had work done.” Veronica swallowed and stared at the picture. “Dad, this is Tallulah Godfrey, pre-Nip/Tuck. She’s Dina Clark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, dun!
> 
> Okay, anyone want to claim bragging rights or lay down any predictions before the last two chapters go up?


	21. Deus Ex Matre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the kidnapper unmasked, the case comes to a head, bringing home painful realities for the Mars family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by [mutinousmuse](http://mutinousmuse.livejournal.com/) and txtequilanights  
> Their notes: _Huge thanks to truemyth, sarah_p and ladyanne04 for the beta job!_

In a cheap motel room somewhere outside Los Angeles, a woman lay curled on top of a thin mattress, a brand new bottle of vodka held loosely in one hand. The television was on, but muted, sending the occasional splash of color washing over her grimy blonde hair and too-pale skin. 

She took a long drink from the bottle, closing her eyes in clear relief as the liquid burned its way down her throat. The phone beside the bed rang with a loud trilling sound and the woman flinched, visibly startled.

She stared at the phone in surprise through two more rings before finally lifting it and bringing it gingerly to her ear. “Hello?”

The voice that came through the receiver was crisp and clear, and the woman sat up quickly, suddenly alert. “How did you get this number?”

The other person began to speak rapidly, outlining a plan. The woman interrupted in protest at first, but soon fell silent, listening in quiet resignation.

“Yes, I’ll help you,” she finally said, tightening her grip on the bottle so her hands would stop shaking. “Just tell me where to be.”

A few concise instructions, and then the woman on the other end said, “We look forward to working with you, Mrs. Mars,” and hung up the phone with a sharp click.

Lianne set the bottle down and reluctantly began to gather her belongings. She was going back to Neptune.

* * *

Keith stood up from where he’d spent the last two hours crouched on the floor. Various joints cracked and popped as he stretched; yet another sign that time was passing far more rapidly than he’d like. His eyes caught again on the morning paper. The headline declared that another girl had gone missing, a painful reminder that time was the one thing he didn’t have to spare.

Veronica stood as well, right hand massaging her left shoulder as she rolled the cricks out of her neck. 

At their feet lay a myriad of newspaper clippings, photographs, file folders and various sundry pieces of evidence - anything and everything either Mars detective had gathered that had even the remotest possible connection to the missing girls or Keith’s shooting.

“I still can’t believe Tallulah Godfrey has been behind these kidnappings all along,” Veronica said. “She was my friend.”

“No,” Keith said, and reached out to squeeze Veronica’s shoulder. “She wasn’t.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Surprise, surprise.”

“Veronica,” Keith said, voice sharper than he intended it. “It’s not your fault. The woman’s made a career out of lying and swindling for the past 20 years. There’s no way you could have known.”

“Logan never liked her,” Veronica admitted. “Maybe if I’d listened to him –”

“Logan never likes anyone.” Keith’s eyes scanned over the scattered papers on the floor, and he sighed. Eyes narrowing, he shook his head. “And it still doesn’t all fit.”

“Well, we know that Tallulah – Dina has to be behind the kidnappings. And we know she’s been selling pictures to the upstanding Neptune locals. ”

Keith nodded. “And probably not just in Neptune. She’s out of town more often than in. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is just one of several points of operation.”

“It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for a pornography ring,” Veronica said. “And where is she taking the girls? She’s been doing this for 20 years, and they don’t stay young forever.

Keith shuddered. “What I don’t understand is why Frank just… let her walk. I _knew_ him, Veronica. He was a good man.”

Veronica leaned against her father’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“I know.” 

They both stood in silence for several minutes, each of their thoughts weaving in and out of the hideous story painted by the scraps of paper on the floor. Veronica finally spoke.

“Dad… if Frank let her go all those years ago, why kill him now? And why come after you?”

Keith shook his head. “That’s what doesn’t fit.”

Veronica nudged the file labeled “Lianne” with her foot. The financial records Keith had found at the site of Frank’s murder spilled out. “You don’t – you don’t think it has something to do with Mom, do you? She wouldn’t…”

Keith’s eyes squeezed shut. “Honestly, Veronica? I don’t know.” His arm dropped from her shoulder, and he turned away. 

“Dad?”

Keith turned.

“Loathe as I am to say this… I think we need to go see Lamb.”

* * *

“Well, if it isn’t Nancy Shrew and the Hardly Boy.”

“Aw, you’ve been practicing,” Veronica grinned. She came through the door into Lamb’s office, her father close on her heels.

“Sheriff.” Keith nodded as though Lamb hadn’t said a word. “We need to have a word with you.”

“Gosh, Keith, I’d love to, but I’m a little busy at the moment. I’m sure my secretary would be happy to give you a job application. ”

“ _Now_ , Lamb.” Keith sat down in a chair across from him, and Veronica moved to sit in the one beside her father. “It’s about the kidnapped girls. Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to tell you who to arrest, and you’re going to do it.”

“I already told your daughter, Mr. Mars. We’re handling it. Now if you’d be so kind as to remove yourself from my office? I just had it sprayed earlier this week.”

“Dammit, Lamb!” Keith’s hand slammed down on the desk, startling both his daughter and the Sheriff. “This isn’t some kind of joke. There are little girls being kidnapped, molested, _killed_! We’re handing you the killer on a goddamn _platter_!” 

Keith shoved a manila folder across the desk at Lamb, who leaned forward and shoved it right back. Keith shot up out of his chair; Veronica rose and grabbed his arm. 

“Dad. It’s fine. If he won’t take care of it, we will.”

“No, actually, you won’t.” Lamb stood and walked to stand next to the door. “I am hereby ordering both of you to stay the hell away from this case, this office, and anything even remotely connected to either, or so help me god I will lock you both up for obstruction of justice until this is done.”

Keith wrenched his arm away from Veronica and took three angry steps towards Lamb, halting only when the tips of their noses were millimeters apart.

“So,” Lamb drawled. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

“Their blood is on _your_ hands now, Don,” Keith hissed. And then he was moving down the hall, leaving Veronica to follow.

“He always did have such a delightful flair for the dramatic,” Lamb said, as she gathered her father’s folder from his desk. “But I mean it, Veronica. Stay away from this case or there will be consequences.”

She stalked past him without a word, vanishing down the hallway.

“You do have such colorful characters in this town,” a woman’s voice spoke from behind the door. “I can see now where Ms. Mars gets her… oh, which would you call that, vim or vigor?”

Lamb swiveled to face the FBI agent. “Keep laughing, _Special_ Agent.” He dropped back into his chair with a sneer. “But if I recall correctly, the _vimful_ Ms. Mars led you on quite the merry chase last time you and your people were in town.”

Agent Morris sat on the corner of his desk and leaned towards him, eyes narrowing. “I have the utmost confidence in your ability to prevent any similar problems from occurring this time. My confidence isn’t misplaced, is it Sheriff?”

“Of course not,” he said. “Veronica Mars has no idea you’re even in town. But then, I’m not the one who called her mother.”

The woman sighed. “Let’s see if the woman even manages to get herself here in one piece before we start worrying about whether she’ll spill.” She glanced up. “I could use a cup of coffee, Sheriff.”

Lamb’s teeth clenched together, but his lips pulled back from them into the shape of a smile. “One lump or two, Agent?”

* * *

“What now?” Veronica asked in frustration, flopping down in the armchair in their living room as Keith closed the front door behind him. 

“We’ll figure something out, honey,” Keith said, sounding not at all sure that they would. “I need to go to the office and make a few calls. I need to talk to some people up in Fresno. There might be something I missed.”

“I should go see Logan; he’ll want to know what’s going on.” Veronica sighed and pushed herself up out of the chair. “Meet you later for a stakeout at Tallulah’s? Chock full of fun and intrigue?”

“You got it. I’ll call you when I’m ready.” Keith dropped a kiss to her forehead and picked up his briefcase before walking out the front door.

Veronica watched him go, then dug her keys out of her purse and followed him.

* * *

Logan blinked in disbelief. “So Tallulah Godfrey… is Dina Clark… is kidnapper extraordinaire?”

Veronica blew out a stream of air in mild frustration. “For the third time, yes.”

“You know what this means, right?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “That you were right and I was wrong?”

Logan gave a distracted half-grin and said, “Well, that too, but I was thinking more about my…” He trailed off, smile dropping, and then finished. “About Aaron.”

Veronica’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement.

“Think about it,” Logan continued. “This woman – Dina, Tallulah, whatever – has obviously made her fortune selling highly specialized kiddie porn to the Neptune elite. And I’m supposed to think she and my Dad were just, what, golfing buddies?”

“God, Logan.” Veronica scooted across the couch to sit even closer to him. “We don’t know that. There are a thousand ways he could have known her.”

“Oh, of that I’ve no doubt,” he said bitterly, and Veronica wrapped her fingers through his. “But come on, Veronica. This sort of thing was right up his alley.” 

An unspoken name lingered in the air between them, and Logan pulled his hand from Veronica’s to yank at his long sleeves. At a rare loss for words, Veronica did the only thing she could think to do, and leaned in to kiss him. For a moment he didn’t respond, and a wave of panic began to swell inside of her. Just as she was about to pull away in embarrassment, Logan suddenly grabbed her waist and pinned her back onto the couch with a ferocious sort of desperation.

It was all Veronica could do to keep up as Logan moved against her. Clothing vanished amidst an almost angry series of yanks and pulls, and soon only a single strategically placed layer of cotton separated the two of them. Lips roved over lips, and hands moved frantically against skin as their bodies melded together. Finally, Logan’s fingers crept up to slide away the last vestiges of material between them, and Veronica lifted her hips in eager assistance.

Once the offending garment had been banished to some far corner, Logan crawled back up to look Veronica in the eye.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

Unblinking, she returned his stare and answered with a simple, “God, yes.”

Without another word, Logan got up and walked away.

Veronica’s eyes widened, and she stood uncertainly from the couch. “Logan… where are you going?”

He looked back over his shoulder, and she couldn’t help but admire the view he presented from behind. “The bedroom,” he said, as though it should have been obvious. “Coming?”

Her face broke into a rather catlike grin. “Of course,” she replied. And she did.

* * *

An hour later, Veronica collapsed onto her side with a long sigh of contentment. “We should do that more often.”

Logan laughed. He trailed a finger across Veronica’s cheekbone but remained uncharacteristically silent. She leaned into his touch and raised an eyebrow at him quizzically. A serious expression crept across his features as he looked down at her, and his hand moved upward to entwine itself into her hair.

“What is it?” she murmured.

“Veronica…”

She never found out what he was going to say, as the mood was shattered by a cell phone springing to life on the bedside table. Her right hand fumbled across the surface of the wood and she grabbed her phone, snapping it open and gasping what she hoped was a normal sounding “Hello?” into the mouthpiece.

“Veronica?”

“Hi Dad,” she said, shooting for chipper but landing a bit closer to just-been-fucked. She sat up in the bed, smoothing her hair as though he could see her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Logan and I just came back from a stroll. What’s up?”

Beside her, Logan feigned offense, mouthing “A _stroll_?” She smirked and batted at his hands as he attempted to run one of them up her now-bare leg.

“I’m heading over to Dina Clark’s place,” he said, and then paused. His next sentence surprised her. “Why don’t you bring Logan along, just in case.”

“Sure, Dad,” she replied. “We’ll see you there.” Grinning, she hung up the phone. “If you play your cards right tonight, my dad might even teach you the secret handshake.”

“Why’s that?” Logan asked, crawling atop of his naked girlfriend and pressing a kiss against her shoulder.

“Because,” she said, reluctantly shoving at him. “You’ve just been invited to tag along on our stakeout.”

“ _The_ stakeout?” he asked, and she nodded. Logan looked impressed.

“Which means less naked, more … not naked.” She crawled out of the bed and trundled into the living room to look for her clothes.

Logan sighed dramatically and flopped back onto the sheets, still completely nude. “Fetch me my shoes, wench!” The shoes in question came flying at him from through the door, and Logan curled up into a ball to avoid a tragedy.

Demonstrating what Veronica believed to be great restraint, he refrained from attempting to smack her ass for the entire ten minutes it took them to get dressed and walk out to the car. Sadly, she could not claim the same restraint.

The afterglow began to diminish, however, once they were on their way. Face after youthful face flashed before her eyes as Veronica’s thoughts turned from her own recent bout of debauchery to the kidnapping victims whose tragic disappearances had haunted her over the past several months.

Logan, noting the change, placed a hand on her knee and squeezed. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. “I’ve been ready for this for a long time.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

Veronica opened the passenger side door of Keith’s car and slipped in as Logan slid into the seat behind her. “What’d we miss?”

Keith nodded in the direction of a van parked halfway down the street. “The feds beat us.”

“Damn,” Veronica swore under her breath. “How long have they been here?”

“Long enough to throw a roof party,” Keith said. Veronica followed the slant of his pointing finger to look at the gathering of people on top of Talluah’s – no, Veronica corrected herself – Dina Clark’s modern-styled mansion. From the street below, it looked like a standoff was underway. The sound of a helicopter in the distance caught her attention, and she scanned the street again.

“No black and whites?” Veronica asked, surprised.

“Not so far,” Keith said. “Just the one undercover vehicle. Looks like more of a sting than a stakeout.”

“Then why the helicopter?” she queried.

“I don’t know,” he responded, voice sounding puzzled.

“We’re just going to _sit_ here?” Logan demanded from the backseat. “We should do something!”

Veronica winced, expecting her father to lash out at Logan, but Keith just shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do. For all we know, they’re signing peace treaties up there.”

Just then, two gunshots rang out from the roof, shattering the silence of the neighborhood.

“Ah, fickle diplomacy,” Logan observed, earning an I-can’t-take-you-anywhere look from Veronica.

“ _Now_ we do something,” Keith said, grabbing his gun from its resting place atop the center console and jumping from the car. “Keep behind me,” he yelled as he pounded across the street. Veronica scrambled to follow, Logan hot on her heels as the three of them raced toward Dina Clark’s driveway.

Inside the kidnapper’s house, all of the lights were blazing. Logan and Keith took the stairs two at a time, leaving Veronica to curse her shorter legs as she hurried after them. They finally burst through a door at the top of the stairs and onto the roof, mostly unnoticed by the mixture of federal agents and local officers already there. The helicopter was now hovering in the air high above them, carefully descending to the roof – and judging from the reactions of the officers, it wasn’t one of theirs. Several of them had guns aimed at the helicopter, although none had opened fire. The blades were stirring up enough wind and sound that it took Veronica a second to orient herself and get a good look at what was going on. 

Most of the other officers had their guns trained on a small group of people in the center of the roof. Veronica could see a tall man clutching a little girl to his chest – shielding himself with her small body. Beside him, a woman Veronica didn’t recognize was talking urgently into a cell phone. 

Veronica felt Keith stiffen beside her and, when she turned to him, saw he was staring at something just to the right of the man holding the little girl. Veronica edged over, craning her neck to see around the agents, and what she saw made her blood run cold.

Tallulah was standing in the middle of the roof. She had a gun in one hand, aimed at the police in front of her, and her other arm was wrapped around Veronica’s mother, holding Lianne in front of her.

“Mom!” Veronica shrieked before she could think, causing half the people on the roof to turn and look at her. 

“Get her out of here,” Keith growled. The next thing Veronica felt were Logan’s arms wrapping around her and dragging her back to the relative safety of the doorway. She went without protest, too numb to do anything but stare in horror as her father shoved his way to the front of the line of agents and officers, and found himself standing next to none other than Don Lamb.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the Sheriff yelled over the rapidly mounting noise from the helicopter. “Get back!”

Keith aimed his gun at Tallulah. “She has my _wife_ , Lamb.”

“Your wife has some pretty fucked up friends,” Lamb sneered. “And besides. I thought she wasn’t your wife anymore.” Nonetheless, he shook his head at the deputies who had moved up behind Keith, ready to drag him away.

A rope ladder suddenly clattered down from the sky. Veronica looked up at the helicopter, where the man who had released the ladder now held a rather large gun pointed at the crowd on the roof. The woman with the cell phone was the first to climb aboard, immediately followed by the man holding the girl. He shoved her above him and barked at her to climb. Tears streaming down her face, she began to clamber up the rungs. Shouts of “Hold your fire!” rang out across the roof, accompanied by a bout of creative-sounding cursing from Lamb. Tallulah was the last to go, keeping an arm clenched tightly around Lianne’s throat as she placed a foot on the bottom rung and wrapped the rope tightly around her free arm. Just as the helicopter began to rise, Tallulah let go of Lianne, letting her drop the five feet to the concrete below.

Keith rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside Lianne. Everyone else watched helplessly as the helicopter and its passengers disappeared into the night.

As the sound of the helicopter faded, Agent Morris let out a distinctively unladylike roar and grabbed Lamb by the front of his shirt.

“You are the single most incompetent piece of horse shit I have ever had the distinct displeasure of interacting with!”

“I didn’t –”

“If you so much as say one more word to me I will rip your slippery tongue out of your oversized head.” With that Agent Morris let go of his shirt and wiped her hand against her pants with evident distaste. “The services of your department will no longer be required, _Sheriff_. The FBI will handle this from here.”

As she strode away, Lamb turned slowly to level a glare at Keith, who was still clutching a distraught Lianne. “This is _your_ fault,” he hissed, voice shaking. “You and your despicable offspring.”

“Go to hell, Lamb” Keith responded. He sounded more tired than anything as he helped Lianne climb to her feet and then stepped back and away from her.

“Do you understand what you just cost me?” Lamb choked out. “I had the opportunity to help bring down a killer the FBI has been tracking for _years_. I should have known bringing in any Mars was a mistake.” His glare shifted to Lianne, and Keith rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t start sharing credit _now_ , Lamb. You’ve spent the past two terms honing incompetence into an art form all by yourself.”

Lamb’s response was cut off by the noisy arrival of Veronica, trailed by Logan.

“Mom?” She grabbed the shaking woman and squeezed her tightly. “Are you okay?”

Slowly Lianne’s arms came up to wrap around her daughter. She murmured something vaguely reassuring and began to gently stroke her daughter’s hair. Keith stared at the two of them for a moment and then turned away. Veronica looked up, confused, and then pulled away from her mother. Suddenly her eyes narrowed, and she looked at Lamb. 

“Did you say the FBI has known for years that Dina Clark was alive?”

Lamb blinked back at her in confusion. “Who’s Dina Clark?”

Veronica barked out a laugh. Her shoulders began to shake, and she doubled over, airless, bitter guffaws wracking her frame.

“Veronica,” Logan said, placing a hand on her back. 

She straightened, eyes bright, and leveled her gaze at Lamb. “You really are useless.”

“Come on Veronica,” Keith said, staring in the direction that the helicopter had flown. “We have work to do.”

The Mars family, such as it was, and Logan retreated into the house, leaving Lamb to alone to contemplate yet another grand failure.

When they reached the street out front, Lianne hovered uncertainly on the edge of the group. “I, um, came here with the FBI. My car is the sheriff’s station.”

“I’ll call you a cab from our place,” Keith said shortly, unlocking his car.

“Thank you,” she said, climbing into back seat.

“Veronica?” Keith said, motioning for her to join them.

“Just a minute, Dad.”

He nodded, and got into the car. Veronica turned and took Logan’s hand. He pulled her against him, arms wrapping around her like a vice. Neither spoke. Veronica’s hands knotted into the material of Logan’s jacket; his clutched against the skin of her hips where it peeked out from between her shirt and her jeans. 

After a lengthy embrace Veronica finally pulled away, arms reluctantly returning to her sides. “Logan, I just –”

“I love you.” The words shot of his mouth like bullets, and her eyes widened in disbelief.

“What did you just say?”

He stared back at her, mute, and then opened his mouth to speak, but before he could make a sound her mouth smashed into his, swallowing whatever sentiment was about to spill out of his lips. The kiss was short and frenzied, teeth scraping at soft skin, tongues shooting out and back again.

A voice caught between distaste and bemusement halted them, and Veronica turned bright red. “I’m _right here_ ,” Keith called, leaning over to yell at them out the passenger window.

“Um, me too.” Lianne blinked at them through the backseat window.

“Oh god,” Veronica said. “I have to go.”

Logan reached forward to brush a lock of stray hair away from her cheek. “Okay.”

“I’ll call you,” she continued, voice high-pitched and breathless.

“Okay,” he repeated, seemingly having lost the ability to form any other syllables.

She darted forward to press another kiss against his lips before vanishing into her father’s car.

Logan grinned as their taillights faded into the distance, twirling his keys around his index finger as he walked towards the XTerra. The flashing red lights of the squad cars illuminated his smiling face as he drove away.

* * *

Keith flew out of the car as though his seat were on fire as soon as he’d jerked it into park. Veronica blinked in surprise and climbed out after him, while Lianne slowly unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Dad?” she called.

“I’ll be inside, Veronica.” The sound of a car door slamming caught her attention, and by the time she turned back around, he’d disappeared into the depths of the apartment complex.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” Lianne said. “I don’t think I blame him.”

Veronica fingered the zipper of her jacket distractedly, refusing to meet her mother’s eyes. “What were you doing there tonight?” she finally asked.

“I was part of the sting,” Lianne responded. “The FBI called to ask if I’d help them get Dina Clark to meet with them. They said… they said they knew I’d been involved in money laundering, and said your father could be arrested if I didn’t help them.”

“What?” Veronica looked up, shocked. “How could they arrest Dad? He didn’t do anything! You did this. And I don’t even know what _this_ is.”

“Back in March, your father’s old partner, Frank Romano, called me to ask for a favor,” she responded. “He said he needed a place to stash some money, but that it couldn’t be in his name. He said it would only be for a few weeks, and that he’d give me a ten percent cut if I agreed.”

“And you didn’t even ask where the money was from?” Veronica asked, incredulous.

“You don’t understand,” Lianne whispered. “I needed the money so badly, and Frank was always such a friend to your father. I knew he had a gambling problem… I figured he probably owed some people some money.” She looked up, face painted with anguish. “You have to know, Veronica, that if I’d had any idea he was taking bribe money from a _killer_ , I never would have done it.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Bitterness laced Veronica words, and she blinked back the moisture that was gathering behind her eyelids. “The fact that my mother _accidentally_ aided and abetted a man who was pocketing money from a child-molesting murderer is supposed to make it all better? Mom, she was paying him off for a reason!”

“Veronica, I’m so sorry,” Lianne cried, reaching forward for her daughter. “That’s why I was there tonight. I was trying to _fix_ it!”

Veronica backed away, hands held out in front of her as if to ward off a foul spirit. “Why?” she said. “Why did you have to put it in Dad’s name? Did you know he was shot, nearly killed, because Dina Clark thought he was in on it? Don’t you care about us at all?”

“It was the only way,” Lianne said, voice desperate. “It was the only account I still had access to. All of my other accounts have been closed out. Veronica, I had no idea this would happen!”

“Well, you should have,” Veronica snapped. “ _Everything_ you touch is ruined. You should have known this would be too.” The tears she’d been containing spilled out onto her cheeks, and she turned to follow her father.

“Not everything,” Lianne called after her, voice also thick with tears. “Not you.”

Veronica halted in her tracks and turned back. She stared back at her mother, committing to memory the shape of the woman who’d created her, loved her, held her when she’d fallen. “Don’t come back here,” she said, voice trembling. “Don’t contact me. Don’t contact Dad. Don’t come back to Neptune. From here on out, I don’t have a mother.” Her voice cracked on the final word, and she spun and ran.

A horn honked from the street. “Lianne Mars?” a voice called. Lianne turned to see a taxi slow to a halt.

“That’s me,” she said, and slowly opened the door.

“Where to?” the driver asked, adjusting the rearview mirror.

She paused, eyes lingering on the apartment building her daughter called home. “Anywhere but here.”

* * *

Veronica entered the apartment to find Keith slouched in the armchair, his elbows on his knees and both hands over his face.

“Dad?” She touched his shoulder lightly and he flinched before looking up at her through suspiciously bright eyes. “Are you okay?”

He gave her a thin smile and covered her hand with his. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“What are we going to do now?” Veronica asked, feeling every inch the lost little girl that she knew she sounded like.

Keith sighed and looked down at the coffee table, where all their folders of evidence were stacked. “I don’t know, Veronica. I just don’t know.”

Veronica fought down a rising wave of panic. “She can’t get away with it.”

“You should go to bed,” Keith said. “Get some rest. There’s nothing else we can do tonight.”

With a reluctant nod, Veronica leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “See you in the morning.”

Keith sat up for a long time that night, flipping through folders until he had the evidence memorized. The pattern was clear, now. Now that yet another child had been taken off to god-knows-where to be subjected to tortures Keith refused to imagine. And it was his fault. Had he pressed Frank harder, had he dug a little deeper twenty years earlier, had he not fallen for the easy lies, that little girl would still be at home with her parents.

With a surreptitious glance at Veronica’s closed door, Keith quietly stood, fished his car keys out of his jacket pocket, and silently slipped out into the night.


	22. O Father, Where Art Thou?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As everyone struggles with the fall-out from the FBI sting job, Veronica is determined to find her father, but he proves to be challenging quary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by TrueMyth  
> My notes: _Thanks very much to mutinousmuse and txtequilanights (the late, great Rachel_Shanz) for the beta. To shizam23 for help with the chapter name. And thanks to all the readers who have been here from the beginning and those that found us later on. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the ride and I hope you like how our story is wrapping up. I can’t believe there is just one chapter left._

Veronica Mars was frustrated. She was frustrated each time she had to jerk her gaze away from map spread out over the dashboard, the map with the little red dot that was still so far away. She was frustrated each time her mind drifted to the overstuffed file-folder, stashed between the driver and passenger seats, filled with pictures of little girls far too innocent for their likely fate. She was frustrated each time she tried to distract herself by glancing outside the speeding car, only to find the sun moving just as quickly towards the curve of the western horizon. In the end, she settled for fixing her eyes on the blue-gray surface of I-5 and willing herself to emulate its hard indifference.

She found the game soothing for exactly six minutes, until the high gates and bustling activity of the Mexican/American border disrupted her view of the uncaring road.

Some mornings, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed.

* * *

_Earlier, that morning:_

Veronica awoke to a deep droning voice, echoing down the hall only to be cut off by a mild click: the answering machine. She blinked at her alarm clock and scowled as it informed her that it was far past time to get up. As she hugged her thick, pink robe around her body and shuffled passed her father’s open bedroom door – bed already made, she _had_ slept too long – into the living room, she breathed a small sigh of contentment. Too long or not, it had been a surprisingly restful sleep.

A playful rat-a-tat-tat heralded the arrival of the likely reason for her inner-peace. Logan grabbed her around the waist and twirled her to the center of the room as soon as she opened the door.

“My, don’t you look –” he surveyed her from the top of her bed tousled ponytail to the bottom of her ratty slippers and sighed, “- sexy?”

She narrowed her eyes at his flattery-turned-question but he simply chuckled as he pressed a kiss against the corner of her frowning mouth. His eyes slid sideways, peeking into the interior of the apartment.

“Your dad here?”

“I don’t think so. He probably left already to see what he could find out about Tallu- Dina. I think he might have just left a message - _Logan_! What are you doing?”

Logan’s hands continued to wrestle with hers at the firm knot of her robe sash, but his lips halted in their exploration of her jawbone as he pulled back slightly.

“Making the most of the situation?” he inquired hopefully.

And then he reached the spot at the base of her ear and she let go of the sash in favor of grabbing hold of his wide shoulders.

“Oh, of course.” She was starting to pant but it really wasn’t _that_ embarrassing with Logan making those low growling sounds at the back of his throat. “How silly of me.” She pulled him back to the vicinity of the sofa and leaned back, only to have a real growl turn to a bark of disapproval as Back-up registered his objection at the interruption of his mid-morning nap.

“Whoa, whoa! Down, boy!” Veronica wasn’t quite sure who she was talking to as she pulled herself back to a standing position to look down at the two disgruntled males sitting on the couch. She tugged her robe back into place as she backed away. “Let me just see what Dad had to say.”

But the voice on the answering machine wasn’t Keith’s.

“Veronica Mars! This is your friendly, neighborhood lawyer calling on behalf of your friend in the clink.” Cliff’s bemused baritone filled the apartment. Logan looked up from scratching Back-up’s head and quirked an eyebrow. She shrugged and continued to listen. “Mister Navarro has requested – quite firmly – that you pay him a visit. Today.” Cliff sighed. “With that article about little Chrissie Morales and the busted sting operation... well. So, that’s _his_ message. _My_ message is this: Eli Navarro would be a lot better off spending his time working on his plea. Tell him you’re dropping the case, V. Please. Call me if you need me.” The machine’s whir was the only sound for a moment before Veronica spun from the counter and marched to her bedroom.

“Wait, you’re not really going to go running off to Weevil, are you?” Logan’s voice was muffled from within her closet. She poked her head out to find him leaning against her door frame.

“He deserves to know what’s happening to the girls, Logan.” She yanked out a thermal and a black over-shirt, tossing them onto the bed besides a pair of jeans before ducking back in to find some shoes.

“He _deserves_ to be thankful you even looked into this case for him. He _needs_ to realize that your father has been shot at, your mother has been held at gun point, and you have done everything in your power to help those girls. You deserve a fucking rest, not his guilt trip.”

By the time he had finished his tirade, Veronica was standing in the middle of her room, her boots dangling from her hand. Without a word, she crossed to him and, reaching up, cradling the strong column of his neck in one hand, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. She pressed into him so that he fell against the doorframe again, letting her tongue and her body communicate what his support meant to her, before angling against him so that he fell through the door and back into the hall.

She pulled the door shut and smiled as she heard his resigned tone from beneath the wood.

“Okay. But I’m coming with you.”

* * *

“So, let me get this straight. Your dad was onto this chick twenty _years_ ago? And you recognized her from a photograph that he’s had for a _month_?” Weevil smirked at her across the streaked plexiglass. “Gee, V, it’s nice to know communication is alive and well in the Mars home.”

“I told you, the plastic surgery –”

“Yeah, yeah. So then your mom was hiding money and went undercover for the _Feds_?”

“ _Weevil_ ,” Logan ground out his name while Veronica shifted uncomfortably. Weevil didn’t acknowledge Logan as he rounded in on Veronica again.

“And so Lamb let this Dina chick get away with Christina too, huh? You know that Christie used to play with Felix’s little sister?” He nodded as she sat back and she had to close her eyes for a moment. But that didn’t stop his words. “Yep. Liked peppermint ice cream and had a _huge_ crush on Johnny Depp. The two of them used to blast Spice Girls from the house when we were working on our bikes in the front yard. They’d dance around. You know.”

Weevil waited for her to open her eyes, only to have his smirk fade as his eyes flickered towards a corner of her face. She felt the tear roll down her cheek and was glad Logan was sitting on the other side of her.

Weevil’s voice was softer now, but the words still cut as deep. “So you just watched her fly away to God-knows-where, huh? I guess I should be impressed that Lamb even cared, just a little, even if their skin was brown and –”

“But it wasn’t.” Veronica cleared her throat, but she could see Logan stiffen beside her and move to examine her face more closely. He grasped her hand under the table and she didn’t pull it away.

“Wasn’t what?” Weevil bit back in surprise.

“Well, yes, all the Neptune girls _looked_ like full-blooded Latinas. But they weren’t. Rosa’s father was an ‘09er. Tracy’s family was about as mixed as they come, despite the Hispanic surname. I didn’t really find the pattern until I looked back at the Fresno cases too. Leah O’Connor was no more Hispanic than I am.” Veronica dashed away the single tear as she warmed up to her story. “No, Dina doesn’t have a race issue. She just goes for the girls that are poor. The ones that are less likely to have rewards put out for them, the parents that are less likely to have the time to mount a manhunt.”

“Ow.” Veronica loosened her death’s grip on Logan’s hand sheepishly at his quiet protest.

“Okay, so this psycho is just a _classist_ , not a _racist_ , Veronica. I feel so much better now that we have that straight.”

“Well, I think that’s why Marisol…”

“Marisol had just moved here! She’d only been in the country for a few months.”

Veronica nodded and exchanged a glance with Logan. He gave her fingers a squeeze.

“And did she speak English well?” 

“No.” Weevil’s eyes were wide as he shook his head. “She was learning, I mean… but it was pretty broken. You couldn’t get her to shut up in Spanish though.”

“The way I see it, and I’m only guessing here,” Veronica was careful to clarify. “I think Dina’s goons made a mistake when they grabbed her. I think, when they brought her back and she couldn’t speak any English…”

“… she was damaged goods,” Weevil finished.

“And then Lilly was found…”

“… and the press swarmed in…” Logan remembered.

“And Dina was stuck with a girl she couldn’t… _use_ and no way to hid her.”

“Besides a shallow grave. Fuck!” Weevil’s fist slammed on his side of the table and he jumped up, ready to do battle. Two deputies moved away from the wall, ready to contain him and he held up his hands, begging for a few more minutes. When he picked up his phone again, he gripped the handle so tightly his knuckles shown white.

“What did you mean, ‘use,’ V? What is she doing to these girls?”

Veronica strived to remain impassive as she told Weevil about the pictures she’d found, tried not to remember the look in Tracy’s wide eyes as she looked into the darkening intensity of Weevil’s.

“I can’t believe you fucking let her get away.”

“Weevil, I –”

“No, save your excuses, Veronica. You’ve had all the evidence in front of you for months. If you’d talked with your dad… if you’d come to _me_ instead of Lamb, I’d have made sure this Tallulah chick,” he glanced over his shoulders at the bored deputies, “…was stopped.”

Veronica felt the flag of color rising in her cheeks but, before she could respond, Logan had yanked the phone away from her.

“Yeah, like you could have done much of anything from back there. What? You’re gonna make Dina a new license plate. I’m sure that would have had her quaking in her pumps.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, lover boy.” Weevil still refused to look at Logan.

“Yeah? Well you are now. You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve to chew out Veronica after she’s put her life on the line to help you. Do you really feel so powerless in here? ‘Cuz if it’s an impotence problem, I’m sure there are a lot of dudes back there that could help.” Logan smirked as Weevil gnashed his teeth. “Anyone make any offers yet, princess?”

Weevil absorbed the barb and smiled before turning to address Logan. “What’s the matter, Logan? Veronica still keeping it all locked away? I guess she’s smart enough to know what keeps you hanging around.”

Logan jumped to his feet and leaned into the glass. “You don’t know a thing about us! Don’t you ever –” Logan stilled when Veronica placed a small hand on the straining curve of his arm.

“You don’t know anything,” he said more calmly before setting the phone in its hook with a muted finality.

Veronica took a last, sad look at Weevil before following him out the door.

* * *

“You _can’t_ be serious.” Logan’s incredulity was thick enough to swim through as they walked into Mars Investigations a half hour later. “You don’t owe Weevil anything.”

“This case stopped being about Weevil a long time ago, Logan.” Veronica leaned against her desk and folded her arms, her face a perfect mask of determination. “I need to help those girls. I need to find the woman who ordered the hit on my dad.” She shrugged a none-too-apologetic apology. “I’ve got a one-track mind.”

“Do you now?” Logan tilted his head as he approached her with a slight swagger.

Veronica swallowed and moved her hands to a more secure position, gripping the desk-top. “Yes,” she stated with certainty.

“I’m so glad to hear it.” Logan reached out to run the back of his fingers along the curve of her cheek.

Veronica shivered and tightened her grip on the wood.

“Did you know,” Logan enquired as he dipped his head to press a feather-light kiss along her eyebrow, “that you get the cutest little creases on the bridge of your nose when you are trying to be all fierce and intimidating?” He peppered a rapid series of kisses along her nose as his legs nudged their way between hers.

“Um, no. I hadn’t realized that… _Dad_?” Veronica called out for her father with a slight desperation as one of her hands moved of its own will to Logan’s hip, sliding under the edge of his T-shirt.

Logan paused, but, when there was no response from the interior office, he gave up the pretense at control and pulled Veronica towards him, while he fell forward, tumbling her onto the cleared surface of the desk. Veronica almost let herself ignore the whisper of paper as it fell past her ear in favor of Logan’s hot heat against the other side of her neck, but she forced herself to push him aside with a groan.

She hopped off the desk and made her way around to where the paper had fallen. By the time she had bent and picked it up, Logan was hugging her from behind.

“What’s that?” He nuzzled her neck as he asked.

“A note from my dad?” Veronica’s confusion rippled through her voice as she read aloud, “ _Veronica, I’ve found the location of Dina Clark’s hideout. This is something that should have ended twenty years ago. It’s my responsibility. Don’t worry. Don’t follow. Love, Dad._ ” She half-turned in his arms as she gaped up at Logan. “Is he _kidding_ me?”

Logan sighed and dropped his hands from her midriff. “Okay, what’s the first step, Holmes?”

Veronica tossed him a smirk over her shoulder before firing up her laptop. “A little elementary cell tracing, my dear Logan.”

But only a minute later she was cursing. “He must have turned it off.”

“Are you sure you’re using it right?” Logan tried to make sense of the display while peering over her shoulder.

“Oh, the system is fine; your tracker is working perfectly.”

“My _what_?”

“Oh! I know!” Veronica slapped her palm to her forehead before digging through a desk drawer for a certain scrap of paper. She didn’t spare more than a glance at Logan’s gaping face.

“What are you doing now?”

“I put a tracker in Dad’s car the last time he came back from ‘Fresno.’ I was starting to think he was lying to me about _that_.”

“A tracker in his car,” Logan restated in incredulity.

“Mm-hum,” Veronica muttered as she keyed the electronic bug’s code into her software.

Logan pushed back from the desk and spun a tight circle of tense disbelief while looking up at the ceiling. He opened his mouth, about to speak just as Veronica crowed and punched the air with her fists.

“Got him!” She pointed to the blinking green dot on the screen and grinned at Logan, only to let her face fall in confusion as she took a closer look at the display.

She zoomed in, recognizing the patterns of streets in Neptune, growing more and more familiar as she focused on the Mars Investigations building. With a gasp, she brushed passed Logan and unlocked the supply cabinet, opening the small black case where they stored their bugs.

Sure enough, the tracker she had so carefully placed on the undercarriage of her father’s sedan sat back in its place, beneath a small sheet of paper.

“ _Veronica, we’ll talk about this later._ ”

“Well. Crap.”

Veronica replaced the supplies and tried not to worry the bottom of her lip as she considered where how she would find her father now. She held the door open for Logan, who cast a small frown at the closed cabinet before walking passed her to the hall.

* * *

“Leave me _alone_ , Sacks! I swear, sometimes you’re just like a mother _hen_.”

Veronica quirked an eyebrow but tried not to shift in her seat as she heard Lamb coming down the hallway.

“Well, yes, Sir,” Sacks spoke hesitantly as he backed into view of the office door. “It’s just, we’d expected you for the meeting with –”

“I was busy.” Lamb breezed past Sacks and stopped dead the moment he saw Veronica seated in front of his desk. He wheeled on Sacks. “How many times, Sacks? How many _fucking_ times?”

Sack’s eyes darted between Lamb and Veronica as his mouth hung open until Lamb sighed and covered his face with his hands, pulling down.

“Fine. Out. Out!” He shooed Sacks away, and then remained leaning against the doorframe. “That goes for you too, Veronica. I’ve had enough Marses in the last 24 hours, thanks.”

Veronica stood up with a smirk and took a step towards him. “Great, then just answer my question and I’ll get out of your oh-so-neatly-styled hair.”

Lamb turned to face her and the light fell over his face clearly for the first time. Veronica gasped. The whole right side of his face was bruised, scrapped ragged in places. A small Band-Aid on his cheekbone pulled down as Lamb’s lips contracted in a frown.

“What happened?”

“Oh, concern. That’s a good one. You two good cop, bad copping me now?” He’d spotted Logan in the shadows behind the door as he circled behind his desk. There went that surprise. “Because that would be a good one,” he continued. “A much more sophisticated interrogation technique than your dear ol’ dad.”

“Just tell her what she wants to know.” Logan moved with a rigid intensity, fists clenching and unclenching as he rushed towards the desk.

Lamb got to his feet slowly, unconcerned in the face of Logan’s anger. “Oh, go ahead and take a swing at me. It’ll make me feel good to toss you _both_ in the slammer again.”

Veronica placed a hand on Logan’s chest and cast Lamb a placating look. “We just want to know where Tallulah has gone. The FBI has been tracking her for years. They _must_ know where her hideout is.”

“So another Mars can go blundering in and fuck up the sting again? Yeah, I don’t think so, Veronica.” He placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned over. “I told your father and I’m telling you: I. Don’t. Know. Where. The. Hideout. Is. Although… ‘hideout,’ heh,” he chuckled. “I gathered it was more of a ‘base of operations.’” And then he winked and Veronica tasted the bitterness of bile in the back of her mouth.

“How can you be so… sick?” she marveled.

“Do you have any idea what your family cost me? If your mother was half the actress you are, I’d be splashed across the newspapers as a hero this morning. As it is, I get intimately acquainted with the side of my house by your dad at one o’clock in the morning after coming home from a meeting with that fucking _Amazon_ of an FBI lady. She’s going to _write me up_.”

“My dad did that to you?” Veronica gapped at Lamb’s abraded face.

“It does look a bit like his style,” Logan conceded in a tone that approached sympathy before Veronica cut him an irritated look.

“Well, gee, Don. I’m really sorry that my family messed everything up for you. You must be really pissed at those little girls, too. If they hadn’t gone to the trouble of getting themselves kidnapped just to make you look bad…” Veronica shook her head as she began to walk out of the room.

Lamb snorted and she stopped so abruptly that Logan bumped into her.

“I know it’s hard for you to trust the system, Veronica, but I wouldn’t worry about the kids. Agent More-Ass is on the war path and I hear they finally got jurisdiction.” He chuckled again, “Mexico has some fucked up laws.”

“Mexico?” Veronica glanced over her shoulder.

“That’s really all I know.” Lamb threw up his hands. “Just keep your eyes on the funny-pages. It will all come right.”

“If there’s one thing I love about you, Lamb, it’s your eternal optimism in other people’s ability to do your job for you.”

Veronica stormed down the corridors of the courthouse without waiting for his response. Logan followed behind her at an easier pace, thanks to his longer legs.

“So… Mexico? Is kind of a big place.”

Veronica sighed.

“Dad probably called his pal at the Bureau. With a nice little admonishment to tell me jack, should I do the same.”

“What now then?” Logan watched her closely as they came to a stop by the exit. Veronica looked up at him sadly.

“I can think of one last person. But I need to talk to her alone.”

* * *

Veronica focused on the black back of the maid’s uniform as she led her along the edge of the pool. It was better than trying to take in the glare of the hot afternoon sun reflecting off the turquoise water. She needed to invest in a nice pair of sunglasses after this.

Veronica had been mildly surprised that Colleen Sharpe was agreeing to see her after the trouble John had gotten into for his participation in his little ‘poke-her’ games. But it all became a bit clearer when she saw the front page of the Neptune Register sprawled across the poolside table, next to an empty, cut-glass tumbler and about half a bottle of Southern Comfort.

  
_Kiddnapper Flees in Daring Midnight Escape._  
_FBI Remains Mum About Involvement._   


Pussy had one arm thrown dramatically up to cover her eyes and a rather skimpy white bikini to not cover the rest of her. Veronica took a seat on the lounge chair next to her but she didn’t stir, even as the maid walked back to the house.

“You were one of Dina Clark’s victims, weren’t you.” It was a statement, not a question by the time it left Veronica’s mouth.

Pussy’s eyes were bloodshot and her lashes damp when she finally raised her arm to peer up at Veronica. Her voice was ragged when she spoke.

“I never called her Dina.”

It was confirmation enough.

“Please, Colleen, I need to know where she would have taken the girl.” Veronica was leaning forward, speaking with deliberate calm, when Pussy suddenly choked on a laugh.

“My name’s not Colleen. It’s not _Pussy_ either. Fucking names. You never know how important they are until they change on you. Dina? Tallulah? Miriam, Susie, Jez. Why should I tell you anything, _Veronica_?”

Veronica gulped, unsure of how to handle this fragile psyche. She didn’t exactly have a good track record with this sort of thing.

“You wouldn’t have let me in here if you didn’t want to talk to me, Coll-,” Veronica swallowed the word and frowned as Pussy burst into that broken laughter again.

“Maybe I just wanted an audience, Veronica. Maybe I just needed someone to _see_ me.” Pussy climbed to her feet, unsteady in her strappy stilettos as she swayed by the deep end of the pool. “Maybe that’s all I’m good for.” She was lost, staring into the deep blue water.

Veronica hung her head and whispered a single word down the front of her cotton tee.

“What?” Pussy’s head whipped around, pulling her leg away from the water as she focused in on Veronica as if she were a bug.

“Please,” Veronica repeated.

“Why?” Pussy’s voice climbed to the shrill tone of a lost little girl and Veronica shuddered, refusing to glance up again.

“My father has gone after her. He’s full of guilt and trying to do the right thing, but he’s not being careful and…” Veronica finally looked Pussy in the eyes, “She’s already tried to kill him once.”

Seconds stretched across Veronica’s frayed nerves as she waited for a response.

And then Pussy was nodding, her blonde head bouncing like a bobble doll on her thin neck.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll help you. She helped me but she didn’t, did she? She said John loved me and-they-think-I-don’t-know. He’s been going down there again. I know. I followed him. It’s how I knew I had to get away. Okay, okay, I’ll help you.” Pussy’s words trailed after her in the hot summer as she shuffled towards the house in a slightly manic set of twitches.

Veronica followed her away from the deep end of the pool, feeling more over her head then ever.

* * *

Logan had picked her up by five in a rented black Range Rover. ‘Stealth,’ he’d declared it, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. He didn’t ask where she’d gotten the map of Mexico with its little red dot inked in near Culiacàn. She tried hard not to growl when he refused to drive more than fifteen miles over the speed limit.

Two miles past the border, he offered up the fact that his father had actually hated Mexico.

“Even when he had to film down here, he’d bitch about it. ‘They know how to treat celebrities in Europe,’ he’d say.” Logan fell silent for a moment. When she didn’t fill the void, he observed, “Probably why I came down here so much. Fuck!” He brought his hand down on the steering wheel. “Is there anything in my life free of that bastard?”

Veronica grimaced and reached across the gap between their seats, settling a hand on his lower thigh and squeezing. Logan glanced at her and she tried to smile. He frowned into the darkening night.

“Of course, he could have just been saying that. It could have been an act. He could have come down here all the time.”

Veronica didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

But she left her hand on his knee.

* * *

The night was saved from complete darkness by only the faint light of the half moon, hanging low in the sky. Logan cut the headlights and they left the car at the head of the side road. They approached the long building on foot and Veronica fought the urge to flinch when Logan pulled a gun from under his jacket, even as she fumbled to settle her taser more firmly in her hand.

There were no lights on inside. No feet crunched on the gravel path around the perimeter, save their own. Any cars were hidden from view. The sense of desolation settled over Veronica like a smothering wool blanket and her breathing began to pick up speed as Logan motioned her to one side of the frame before trying the latch of the main door.

It fell open on well-oiled hinges. Logan blinked at her with overshadowed eyes, as uncertain as she was about how to proceed. She shrugged and began to enter, only to have him shoulder past her, moving into the room first with his gun held out before him. The click of the safety catch echoed down the long hall of rooms.

Veronica had begun to worry that Pussy had betrayed her, but, as her eyes began to adjust, her mind began to catalogue the evidence of recent habitation. Half empty glasses sat on the tables of the small waiting room. A loose, white sheet ran out one of the several doors on either side of the narrow hallway that seemed to run the length of the building. A chair was overturned near the entrance to the hallway. There was no dust, and the musty smell that assaulted her nose had nothing to do with poor housekeeping. Yes, people had been here recently, and left in a hurry: That was one of the inescapable conclusions that faced Veronica.

Her mind fought the second conclusion, even as she glanced through the side doors and saw the unmade beds, the too-small lingerie hanging from a side chair. The small, gray teddy bear in one corner, its mouth stained dark with what Veronica was sure would match one of the lipsticks on the counter beside it. Soon, the other corner of the room was filled with a second distasteful sight as Veronica emptied the contents of her stomach, not even fighting her gag reflex.

“Veronica!” Logan’s shout of dismay carried down the hallway.

“I know.” Veronica wiped her mouth on her sleeve as she staggered into the disserted corridor to find Logan standing in the entrance to the last room. “I know, Logan. Oh, God. It’s a _brothel_. It’s a brothel of _children_.” She spit the words out as she reached him, but he shook his head as he glanced into the room.

“It’s not that. It’s… your dad.”

Veronica had long assumed that they were the only two people left in this hell hole, and she followed Logan’s gaze with mounting fear. Her eyes traced a path of dark splotches on along the floor, to the edge of the bed and the shape of a pair of legs, stretched out on the floor.

Veronica fell to the floor, amid the dark stains, at the man’s side. Her father.

She cried out for Logan to help her as she tried turned him over onto his back. He was so still. The right side of his temple swelled with an ugly lump and the front of his shirt was stained complementary to the floor. It wasn’t blood. It couldn’t be blood.

“Don’t you dare do this. Don’t you _dare_.”

Logan’s hands grasped at her shoulders but she shrugged them off and pressed her fingers to her father’s throat, searching desperately for a pulse.


	23. Ashes, Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by strippedpink and txtequilanights  
> Their notes: _Thanks so much to truemyth, mutinousmuse, kantayra, and sarah_p for all of their help and suggestions._
> 
>  
> 
> _We're so grateful for all of the people who have stuck with us through this project, all of your comments mean so much. We've all enjoyed writing it and we hope you've enjoyed reading it!_

_thump…thump…thump_

A slow but definitely strong beat pulsed against Veronica’s fingers and she broke into sobs of relief as she gathered her father in her arms. “Dad? Daddy? Wake up. Please.”

Keith’s eyelashes fluttered when Veronica’s spoke and his voice, though groggy and slurred, was the best thing she had ever heard. “Veronica?”

“Yeah,” she said, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Dina…” Keith struggled to sit up, wincing as he probed gingerly at the side of his head. When he pulled his hand away, Veronica was giddy with relief; the cut wasn’t nearly deep enough to warrant the amount of blood smearing his fingers. It couldn’t all be her father’s. 

Keith continued, “She wanted to escape. She had one of the girls in her arms and I tried to stop her, but…” He trailed off with a frustrated gesture.

Logan knelt on Keith’s other side and, between he and Veronica, they managed to get her father to his feet. He swayed unsteadily for a moment and Veronica wrapped her arm through his, holding him still. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

“I’m fine,” Keith insisted firmly. As if to prove himself, he slipped his arm free of Veronica and took a step away from her. “We have to find Dina.”

“Do you have any idea where she went?” Veronica asked. At Keith’s hesitant headshake, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line. “She could be anywhere! There’s nothing else we can do without help.”

Keith stepped back to her and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her tight against his chest. “We’ll find her, honey. We have to.”

“Look at this place,” Veronica said, pulling slightly back to wave a hand helplessly at the building around them. “I never…How can people _do_ this?”

Before Keith could respond, Logan held up a hand, silencing them both. “Do you hear that?”

Veronica frowned at him and cocked her head to the side, listening. A soft sound reached her ears, quiet, almost undetectable crying, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Someone is still here.”

Keith flinched, a dazed and slightly confused look on his face. “She’s still here?” His voice was ragged with pain, yet hopeful.

Logan nodded and slipped silently from the room. Veronica and Keith followed, watching as he slowly opened every door he came to. Finally, at the end of the hall, in a small, hidden closet, he found her. She didn’t look more than nine, a skinny, terrified little girl who shrieked at the sight of Logan and scrambled deeper into her hiding place.

Veronica hurried forward and pushed past Logan to kneel in front of the closet. “Hi, I’m Veronica. This is Logan. We’re not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“They left,” the little girl said, her voice thin and shaky. “They all left and I…I hid. Where he told me.” Her gaze traveled to Keith, and as one Veronica and Logan turned around to stare. The girl’s voice raised in pitch, nearly hysterical as she spoke. “They’re going to come back for me.”

“No, they aren’t.” Logan knelt beside Veronica and held his hand out to the little girl. She hesitated for a long second, but then took it and let him pull her out of the closet. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Veronica spotted an old blanket stuffed in the depths of the closet and dug it out to wrap around the girl’s shoulders. “What’s your name?”

“Camilla,” the girl answered. “Are you going to take me home? I miss my mommy.”

“Where’s home, sweetie?” Veronica asked. Camilla wasn’t one of the girls who disappeared from Neptune, Veronica had their faces memorized.

Camilla looked at her with wide eyes. “El Paso. There’s a desert there.”

“Yeah, we’re going to make sure you get home.” Logan said. He turned her around to face him and pushed her hair back out of her face. A dark bruise was blossoming beneath the scraggly strands, and Logan went still before he lifted his head. Veronica saw the burning in his eyes and felt an answering clench in her chest when he turned back to the girl, softening his voice. “But first we need you to tell us what you heard. Do you know where they were going?”

Camilla nodded. “To the plane. They kept talking about getting everyone to the plane. But I didn’t want to go. Last time I was on the plane they brought me here.”

“There’s a small airport nearby,” Keith spoke up from behind Veronica. He was leaning against the wall, his skin pale and grey next to the dark red blood drying on the side of his head. “Dina is probably using it to escape.”

Logan stood, Camilla still wrapped in his arms, and Veronica followed, her face set in grim lines of determination.

“Let’s get this bitch.”

* * *

Veronica could add the ten minute ride to the airport to the short list of the most helpless times in her life. She felt the furtive glances Logan kept sending in her direction, anxious and concerned, but she couldn’t even pretend to put up a front, to meet his gaze and let him know that the possibility of her losing her sanity was one less thing they had to worry about. The simple truth was, neither of them knew _what_ they were going to find when they reached the airport. Whether they’d make it in time to find Dina and the other girls.

“Hey,” Logan’s quiet voice pierced the silence, too loud, and Veronica winced. His hand came down heavy on her thigh, just a reassuring squeeze that he was there. “This is almost over,” he said, thumb rolling over her knee, and Veronica shifted closer to the window. “Don’t do that.”

The tired snap in his voice was like an axe slamming through a tree branch, and Veronica blinked back tears of disgust and what she’d never name as fear. When it came, her voice was ripe with feeble anger. “What if it’s not over? What if she gets away again, and this time I could’ve _done_ something to stop it.”

“What the hell haven’t you done, Veronica?” Logan’s fingers tightened as Keith made a sharp left turn. “What the _hell_ haven’t you done?”

“Weevil was right,” she answered tonelessly, hands tangled together in her lap as she stared at the passing highway. 

“Oh, Christ.” Logan let out an exhausted laugh.

“This could have been so much _easier_ ,” Veronica said, frustrated. “We did so much wrong!”

“It’s not your fault.” Keith spoke sharply and Veronica looked up, meeting his eyes briefly in the rearview mirror before he looked back at the road. “I should have told you about what happened in Fresno as soon as Frank turned up dead.”

Veronica sighed heavily. “And I should have told you about the missing girls. We could have connected the dots so much more easily. But you should _not_ have gone after Tallulah! She already tried to have you killed you once!”

“I’m glad we’re sharing and caring,” Logan broke in. “But maybe we could do this after the catching criminals portion of the evening?”

“If I’d just—” Veronica began, but Keith cut her off before she could finish.

“Logan’s right. We can’t change what’s done.”

Veronica pressed her lips into a flat line, swallowing whatever bitter words were flavoring her tongue. The silence grew between them, punctuated by the steady roll of tires along asphalt. Keith made another turn and she saw the first bright flashes of lights.

“Logan.” Veronica’s fingers were already working at her seatbelt, and she glanced over to see Logan’s answering grim expression. “Something’s happening,” she said, needlessly.

Engine and chopper noises filled the air as they grew closer, and the sick dread in Veronica’s belly twisted and knotted as Keith slammed into park, sending gravel and dirt kicking into the air. Veronica was out of the car and running before the passenger door had closed.

“Veronica!”

She ignored her father’s call, feet slapping pavement, eyes stinging with frustration and determination as the scene came into full view. A small, private jet coasted along, gathering speed as a brigade of Federal marshals huddled together near the end of the runway, weapons drawn and faces grim.

The human wall seemed to have no effect on the pilot of the jet, and Veronica stared in fascinated horror as one of the Feds yelled something out, and warning shots were fired at the wheels of the plane. She felt Logan come up behind her, breathless and worried as he muttered, “Oh, _shit_.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” a masculine voice intoned, and Veronica turned around to find herself staring into the barrel of a serious looking rifle. Before she could speak, Logan had shoved her out of the way and was yelling at the marshal in question, “Have you lost your fucking _mind?_ ”

Veronica edged away during the argument that followed, catching sight of another Fed pointing what looked like a damn rocket-launcher at the plane, and she swallowed back a scream, running at him with a hazy fantasy of knocking him to the ground. 

“Wait!” She grabbed his shoulder, fingers slipping on slick leather. “There are children, are you _insane?_ ” Her voice got lost in the cacophonous roar of wind and combustion turbine. She caught sight of Logan over the man’s shoulder, still arguing with the uniformed official and looking ready to knock him on his ass.

“Veronica Mars!”

She spun around, coming face to face with a dirt-and-sweat-streaked Agent Morris, who looked none to happy to find her there. Agent Morris fired a few terse phrases into a radio walkie, gesturing to someone over Veronica’s shoulder. Veronica opened her mouth, but was rolled right over.

“Disappear, _now_.” Morris’ left no room for debate, expression dark and serious as she reached for Veronica.

“You’re going to shoot down a plane with _kids_ on it!” Veronica shouted, jerking away from the female Fed’s grip. Her throat felt on fire. “You care more about catching that bitch than you do saving the children she’s taken.”

Morris’ lips compressed. “This isn’t the time for—”

A loud _boom_ erupted from the airfield, sending sparks and flames into the air, and Veronica found herself flying through the air along with other assorted pieces of debris. She scrambled to her knees quickly and caught Logan’s gaze several feet away, saw the terror coloring his eyes as he shoved past Feds and skidded to a halt at her side.

“Jesus Christ, Veronica.” His hands cupped her cheeks, tilting her face up to his. “You okay?” He was shouting to be heard, but Veronica’s heart was beating so loudly that she had to struggle to make it out. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, and she spun around, swallowing a scream as her father’s face swam into view.

“If you ever do something that _stupid_ again…” Keith trailed off, voice shaking, and Veronica fell against his chest, gasping, and let her father bury his face in her hair before pulling back and looking around in a daze.

“What happened?” She let Logan pull her to her feet as she blinked through the haze of ash raining down on them, and turned to find the plane smoking and the Feds rushing to circle it as the emergency hatch opened and they began pulling children out and down the ladder. Tears finally broke from her eyes as she registered the small, ragged bodies. “Oh, God.”

Morris and some others were already on top of Dina before Veronica could move, and she watched in a sort of detached sense as the woman snarled and fought, shouting obscenities and threats against anyone and everyone. When that didn’t work, she melted into a weeping mess, swearing she was innocent, had been duped. Bile rose, bitter and sharp, on the back of Veronica’s tongue, and Logan wrapped his arms around her and shook his head.

“Don’t do that,” he said, mirroring his words in the car, and Veronica choked on a silent sob.

“Do you see them?” she managed on a rough whisper, watching the children being transferred from the plane, a seemingly never-ending line. “God, Logan. What kind of person…”

“Don’t try to understand her,” Logan said, almost fiercely, and Veronica slowly raised her head to find him staring at her with glittering eyes that almost showed _too_ much. But instead of being scared away by the emotion, she clung to it, fingers pressing deep into his back as he sighed against her hair and stroked with gentle hands.

Logan pulled her closer as Dina passed by, burying Veronica’s head into his shoulder with the palm of his hand, but Veronica turned her face outward and met the icy stare head-on. She lifted her chin and refusing to succumb to the shudder threatening to course down her spine. Dina paused, fighting against the hold of the Feds, features a cold mask and lips curved. 

“You couldn’t save them all, Veronica. You can never save them all.” 

Those words lingered in her mind long after the police cars had left.

* * *

Logan was categorically _not_ a patient person. He never had been. Anyone who had ever talked to him for more than five seconds could tell you that. But Veronica had to admit that she was a little impressed that he gave her a whole week to brood before he talked her dad into ignoring Veronica’s pleas to be left alone and letting Logan in the house.

When the knock on her bedroom door came, Veronica looked away from her halfhearted attempt at organizing her closet long enough to say, “Dad, I’m not hungry. Unless you’ve hired a world-renowned Italian chef to cook us three meals a day, in which case I’m famished.”

The person who stepped through the opened door was definitely not her father. But he was also holding a bag that smelled suspiciously like meatball subs. “Why does everyone always try to ply me with food?” she asked. It was supposed to be light and carefree, but it came out weak and fell flat. With a sigh, she turned back to her closet. Where, exactly, did a pink and green argyle sweater go? In the pinks? In the greens?

“Put it with the greens,” Logan said from behind her. “You have too much pink.”

Veronica very deliberately hung the sweater at the end of the green section. “You’re right. I should be less girly.”

Logan laughed softly and Veronica heard the crinkling of the paper bag as he set it down on her desk. “I didn’t say that. I like you girly, it’s cute. Actually, I just like you period.”

“Logan,” Veronica turned to face him, trying her best to paste a smile on her face. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, I do. But I just…I need time, okay?”

Taking her hand, Logan tugged her gently across the room to the bed, pulling her down to join him. “What happened was terrible,” he said. “But you can’t stay in here and avoid the world forever. You did your best, Veronica. You saved God only knows how many children from having to go through that in the future.”

Veronica closed her eyes, forcing back the hot pinpricks of tears. “I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see their bodies. Why couldn’t I save them?”

“It’s okay.” Logan’s arms came around her, holding her tight against him as the first wave of sobs wracked her body. “Shhh, hey, it’s okay.”

He slid further back on the bed, pulling her with him until they were lying flat, with her head resting against his chest. His fingers stroked through her head and, for the first time in a week, Veronica didn’t feel like she was about to crawl out of her skin, didn't smell the lingering acidity of ash when she inhaled. When she drifted off, it was to the steady, strong sound of his heart beating.

_thump…thump…thump_

_The End_


	24. Character Index

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As well as the canon _Veronica Mars_ characters tagged above, our story introduces several original characters who run through various chapters. If you find yourself saying "who was that again?" then please refer below. Don't worry, all descriptions are brief and introductory so as not to spoil later plot developments.

**The Bennetts -** an 09er power couple first met at in Ch. 4, employers of Stuart Freidrich, Sean's father

 **Campbell, Tommy Joe -** a member of the Aryan brotherhood, living in San Diego, CA  
**Clark, Dina -** a person of interest in a missing person's case that Keith worked in Fresno, CA

 **Donaldson, Mike -** that cute guy on the dog beach

 **Fitzpatrick, Patrick -** a reformed member of the Fitzpatrick crime family

 **Godfrey, Tallulah -** an 09er and past 'friend' of Aaron Echolls  
**Gonzalez, Tracy -** a child who went missing in Neptune in 2003

 **Harding, Nora -** psychology professor at Hearst College

 **O’Connor, Henry -** father of Leah  
**O’Connor, Leah -** a missing person from Keith's time in Fresno, CA

 **Ramirez, Rosa Beatriz -** a 12 year-old girl from Weevil's neighborhood  
**Reyes, Marisol -** a young girl from Weevil's neighborhood who went missing and was found murdered during the height of the Lilly Kane investigation, mentioned in episode 1x12, "Clash of the Titans

 **Romano, Felicity -** the wife of Keith's old partner and college friend of Lianne  
**Romano, Frank -** Keith Mars's old partner from Fresno, CA

 **Sharpe, Colleen "Pussy" -** an 09er trophy wife, suspected of cheating  
**Sharpe, John -** an 09er business man

 **Wilson, Tyler -** a not unattractive professor of psychology at Hearst College


End file.
